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AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 





OP irwe 
OI L4 8 Viz 


AT THE FOOT 
OF SINAI 


By 
GEORGES CLEMENCEAU 


AUTHORIZED TRANSLATION, BY 
A. V. ENDE 


se 


NEW YORK 
BERNARD G. RICHARDS COMPANY 
METROPOLITAN TOWER, NEW YORK 


Copyright, 1922, By 
Bernarp G. RicHarps Co. 


PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES 


MANUFACTURED BY 
H. WOLFF, NEW YORK 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 
InTRopucTION By Dr. A. CorALNIK . . . ix 
Naar: Miata oe ks ye aalins tae Oe 
SCHLOME THE FIGHTER. . .-- +--+ 39 
Wis fend eee eee Wl ae Ve 
How I Became FarsicHtep . . . - - - 80 
Impressions or Gaticia . . . - - + + 90 


ie re ee cee ae 





1035965 





GEORGES CLEMENCEAU 


“Bookmen are not swordsmen,” says 
the ancient Oriental proverb. Nor poli- 
ticians—adds the wisdom of our own 
time. It is the one thing or the other. 
The mixture never succeeds. Writers 
merely dabble and blunder in politics. 
Witness Chateaubriand and Lamartine. 
And active politicians stumble over the 
written word. 

Two exceptions prove the rule—Ben- 
jamin Disraeli and Georges Clemenceau. 
Disraeli, who remained a poet in politics 
and Clemenceau, who could not disguise 
the politician even under the mask of a 
writer,—two world-figures striking the 


[ ix ] 


INTRODUCTION 


imagination as did few before them, and 
very few after, both with the indelible 
stamp of strangeness on their brow. 
“The Asiatic riddle” and the riddle of 
the Tiger. The Jew and the little man 
from the Vendée with the face of the 
Mongolian. The same incomprehen- 
sible smile, the same unfathomable aloof- 
ness. Nobody understood Disraeli, the 
man and his work, his ideas and his 
motives. And very few of the con- 
temporaries of Georges Clemenceau can 
penetrate behind the strange mask of this 
complicated personality. They saw him 
fighting, always fighting, with a sardonic 
smile on his lips, and the ironic twinkle 
in his dark, scintillating eyes. He fought 
for forty years, a St. George battling the 
Dragon. But what was his Dragon? He 
fought Gembetta and Jules Ferry, Bris- 
son and Rouvier—one ministry after an- 


[x] 


INTRODUCTION 


other, even those he himself helped to 
create. He became a _ legend—The 
Tiger’—the ogre of the French Parli- 
ament. But why and whence his un- 
quenchable lust of destruction? One of 
his admirers enumerated once, in his 
presence, all the parliamentarian victims 
of the ‘“Tiger,” and counted half a score. 

“Well, you exaggerate,” interrupted 
Clemenceau. “It was always the same 
ministry.” 

This is the secret of his life-work. He 
fought always, all these forty years, one 
incessant, untiring battle against the same 
enemy. The enemy of Voltaire, the 
enemy of Disraeli—stupidity and com- 
placence. As Callas finds his champion 
in Voltaire so does Dreyfus find his de- 
fender in Clemenceau. As _ Disraeli 
forces upon Roumania the human rights 
to the Jew, so Clemenceau compels the 


[ xi ] 


INTRODUCTION 


recalcitrant Eastern-European nations to 
accept the clauses of the minority rights, 
placing the Jews of these lands on an 
equal footing with the other peoples of 
the world. The nature of the fight and 
the weapons are different. Voltaire 
fought with his wit, Disraeli with his 
imagination—Clemenceau with his tre- 
mendous logic. 

Here is his power and—his limitation. 
Logic is unbiased. The pure logical 
mind is a surgeon’s blade, sterilized by an 
acid. And Clemenceau is a surgeon by 
nature; a fencer by training. “A short- 
necked bull, the horror of the most daring 
espadas,” said his old enemy, the dandy 
of France, M. Barrés. We would trans- 
pose the comparison. He is the finest 
“espada” who ever lived in France, the 
terror of the oldest bulls in the arena. 
An “espada” on the tribune, with his in- 


[ xii | 


INTRODUCTION 


cisive, laconic, sarcastic, trenchant word, 
an “espada” with the short, daggerlike, 
swirling, flashing spear in his writing. 
Short phrases, sentences following each 
other with rapidity—the “great style” of 
the seventeenth century. A rich, fluid 
language. But the fluid is often undi- 
luted acid. A power of evocation, un- 
paralleled in journalism. And he is the 
journalist, the publicist. Even in his fic- 
tion or in his plays. 

Art as artisnothisdomain. His novel 
“Les Plus Forte,” his Chinese play “Le 
Voile du Bonheur,” his short stories of 
Jewish life, “Au Pied du Sinai,” first is- 
sued in 1898, and republished in 1920,— 
they are not creations of an artist, the de- 
tached observer, whose only aim is to 
shape his impression of the world. Clem- 
enceau wanted to reshape the world. 
Only he was too clever to believe in the 


[ xiii ] 


INTRODUCTION 


possibility; too ironical to take the world 
so seriously. 

He is the man of side-views and this 
means broad views, odd views, strange 
aspects. A Vendean by birth, heir of 
somber believers and anti-revolutionaries, 
a Parisian of life-long habit, a cosmopoli- 
tan by culture, a skeptic by the bent of his 
mind, he muses over the problem of re- 
ligion, chooses the yellow jacket of the 
Chinese mandarin to give vent to his pes- 
simism, dons the gabardine of the Eastern 
Galician Jew to emphasize his ideas of 
man and history, of society and its funda- 
mental principles. Was it his unerring 
instinct that led him to “Busk” the Gali- 
cian town, “bois et boue”——wood and mud 
—a Godforsaken old-time Eastern Gali- 
cian townlet, where poor Jews are 
hurdled in misery and abjection? He 
does not idealize the Jews. Hesees them 


[ xiv | 


INTRODUCTION 


as they are, but as they are he accepts 
them, recognizing the reason of the low 
estate of this obscure section of Jewry. 
Just because it is dark, his tiger eyes are 
straining. And this miserable life of an 
old, superannuated unoccidental com- 
munity, almost on the border of Europe 
—the Europe of which Paris is the cen- 
ter, the “Ville-Cerveau,”—brings forth 
in this arch-skeptic an emotion of human 
brotherhood. A conception of the tragedy 
of our modern culture. He looks beyond 
Busk and sees Busk versus Mundum; 
Busk-Israel in battle with a world; the 
struggle within an old, moribund civili- 
zation, where egoism is the dominant 
chord. And he preaches pity. “Less 
license to egoism, more place for pity.” 
Who would expect this philosophy of 
pity from the “Tiger,” from the ogre of 
the French political fairy tale? 
[xv] 


INTRODUCTION 


They did not believe him and he was 
too haughty to convince them. He con- 
cealed his real face behind the assumed 
tiger-mask, until the fatal hour struck. 
And Clemenceau, the “Cosmopolitan,” 
the “Anti-patriot” as those fools of the 
Barrés-Deroulede-Judet clique stigma- 
tized him, became in the direst hour of 
France, the “Man of Destiny.” The 
skeptic inspired France with indomitable 
faith, and brought her to victory. Vic- 
tory not only to a country, but to a princi- 
ple. And this principle underlying the 
Treaty of Versailles, “Le Traite de 
Clemenceau” as they called it in France, 
is individuality, assertion of the indi- 
vidual against the strangling power of the 
state, of the Leviathan-Superstate, as con- 
ceived by Germany. He dealt a crush- 
ing blow to this old snare of humanity, 
the power of group over group, nation 


[ xvi | 


INTRODUCTION 


over nation, abstract idea over the living 
organism. And he became the liberator 
of the small, oppressed nations. All the 
autonomists, all the irredentists, found 
an eager supporter in this old fighter for 
the redemption of man. He gave them 
freedom with a sneer, and made peace 
with a leering, almost cynical smile. He 
knew very well that this is not the “End,” 
that Versailles is not an antechamber to 
the realm of Heaven. He did not play 
the part of godfather, in this tremendous 
“Passions-Spiel.” His task was merely 
to awaken energies and to let loose the 
forces in chains—Poles, Lithuanians, 
Jews, Greeks, Southern Slavs—all of 
them, and let them play their part in the 
world, for good or for evil. | 

“T never look backward, I see only that 
which is before me,” once said Clemen- 
ceau in the French Chamber. And his 

[ xvii | 


INTRODUCTION 


work in word and action was to subdue 
the overbearing past, to free the con- 
science of man from the dead weight of 
history. 

“I can make war and make peace. 
Clemenceau makes only war,” said of him 
the master of sonorous words and carver 
of empty shells, Aristide Briand. But 
Briand had never understood the wrath 
of the man of pity against those who had 
no pity. Clemenceau made peace, to en- 
force right, not to further commerce. 
The world is for him not a financial 
oratorical, or artistic problem, but a 
moral one. “How shall I give?” asks 
Baron Moses in one of these stories. And 
only “from the touch of death that on the 
threshold of the beyond he conceived the 
meaning of life.” 

This moral attitude, this insatiable 
hunger for giving, the “quantum satis” 

[ xviii ] 


INTRODUCTION 


of every moralist, distorted by doubt, by 
the consciousness of the theatricality of 
this same attitude, intellect laughing be- 
hind the back of emotion—this is what 
makes Georges Clemenceau one of the 
foremost fighters of our modern sophisti- 
cated times. A splendid “espada”—yet 
despairing of ever throwing down the 


Bull. 
A. CORALNIK. 


[ xix ] 








AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


os 
RASS 


es 


ol 





AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


BARON MOSES 


Baron Moses von Goldschlammbach 
was rich, very rich, in fact, too rich. He 
had inherited his wealth from his father, 
the baron Eliphas, a former broker for 
contraband tobacco. A Portuguese ves- 
sel had saved him from the hands of the 
Belgian police in the harbor of Ostende 
and had landed him in the feverish Bay 
of Santos with nothing in his possession 
but a portfolio containing a rather dubi- 
ous contract with an equally dubious 
speculator in coffee, 

In time all South American republics 
came to know, under divers aspects, that 
despised Jew Eliphas, who traded in 


[1] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


everything that could be sold and whom 
an unheard-of stroke of good luck made 
the right hand of the most honorable and 
most highly respected magnate of Cara- 
cas. 

It was a mere matter of chance that a 
scrupulously kept engagement had se- 
cured for him the esteem of Don Jose 
Ramon y Lopez, whom a victorious revo- 
lution placed at the head of a certain en- 
terprise for the building of railroads and 
the dredging of a harbor. The scheme 
was of colossal proportions, calculated to 
satisfy the hostile parties, all of them 
equally hungry for spoils. By common 
consent the agreement was sufficiently 
elastic to suit all occasions. Unfortu- 
nately Jose Ramon y Lopez expired 
suddenly at an intimate dinner with his 
partner Eliphas, whom general confi- 
dence had made the dummy for all those 


[2] 


BARON MOSES 


who had no need or desire to be publicly 
associated with the enterprise. Nothing 
was found on Ramon of the package of 
letters that were to be distributed that 
very evening. All that was discovered 
in the dead man’s apartment, where Eli- 
phas wept and in desperate grief at the 
loss of his friend knocked his head against 
the wall, was a primitive agreement, 
dating from the very inception of the 
scheme, which left the survivor in pos- 
session of everything. 

At first an outcry of rage went forth, 
moderated by involuntary admiration. A 
hundred irregularities of form were sud- 
denly discovered in the concession. The 
contract of the enterprise was denounced, 
a suit was entered and there was even talk 
of special legislation. It was then that 
Eliphas was found to be the possessor of 
a singular gift: that of golden persuasion. 


[3] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


As soon as this devil of a man began to 
talk with one of his opponents, however 
powerful that man might be, he was 
won over to the cause of Eliphas, how 
and why he himself did not know. 
Without doubt the dazzling millions, of 
which the lucky partner of Ramon was 
the provisional holder, had something to 
do with it; besides the conviction was 
gaining ground, that nothing would make 
Eliphas lose his grip on that fortune. 
In time this view was justified, for with- 
in five years Eliphas had won his suit 
and serenely established himself as heir 
of the vast property. 

Notwithstanding his sudden rise in the 
business world Eliphas remainéd good 
and modest. He went about in the towns 
as before, buying, selling, speculating, 
but he was prudent enough to have two 
trusty giants closely follow his steps. 


[4] 


BARON MOSES 


He seemed to have no desire to attract 
attention by provocative luxury. He 
had no taste for spending. Gifts to 
charitable institutions, to synagogues and 
Christian churches won for him the favor 
and good will of everybody. 

During one of his journeys the bishop 
of Caracas persuaded him to be con- 
verted, and he decided to take this 
step without hesitation when he learned 
of what social advantages it would be 
to his son, young Moses. No doubt 
it was to prepare him for his future 
position in society that the youth was 
promptly sent to the Jesuit brothers of 
Cordova. 

Thus the heir of Eliphas had his life 
all mapped out. Richly provided for 
by a heavy bank account, there remained 
nothing more to be done than further to 
fit him for the place he was to occupy, 


Ps] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


To prove that he did not solely rely upon 
the power of wealth to pave the way of 
his offspring, Eliphas yielded to the addi- 
tional suggestion to buy a title from the 
Pope. He did not aspire to anything 
higher than a simple baronetcy. Some as- 
serted that there was in this step an adroit 
flattery, addressed to the great kings of 
his race in the hope, were it possible, to 
obtain pardon for his apostasy. 

As Henry IV. after his conversion re- 
mained indulgent towards his obstinate 
Huguenots, so Eliphas secretly assisted 
his former co-religionists and assured 
himself of the good-will of Israel while 
he was building cathedrals in honor of 
the Holy Virgin and the Trinity. Our 
capitals offered him their palaces. He 
bought them and paid for them royally. 
Thus he won the esteem of their former 
owners and discreetly rendering them 


[6] 


BARON MOSES 


certain services even acquired their warm 
friendship. 

After he had accomplished all this, 
Baron Eliphas wisely died, leaving his 
son Moses in full possession of the power- 
ful position that he had so scrupulously 
assured for him by divers acts, in which 
both the good Lord as well as the devil 
had their share. 

It must be admitted in praise of Baron 
Moses, that he seemed to accept nothing 
in the legacy of his father with as much 
joy as the story of the honor pledge faith- 
fully kept towards Jose Ramon y Lopez, 
which was the original source of the 
baronetcy of Goldschlammbach. At the 
death of Eliphas he had the story most 
artistically printed and published in all 
languages. Owing to the remoteness of 
the time and the place, the rest of the 
biography seemed to have effaced itself 


[7] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


in the memory of his contemporaries. 

The question now arose, what Baron 
Moses was going to do with the enormous 
wealth and prominent social position, 
which the restless life of the father had 
secured for the innocent heir. But who- 
ever may have asked that question, it was 
apparently not Moses himself. For spon- 
taneously, without the least premedita- 
tion, without any thought whatsoever, he 
continued in all simplicity the work of 
his father who had accumulated and 
hoarded in order that he might accumu- 
late and hoard. There was neither vice 
nor virtue in it. What can one do, if 
all impulse of good or evil is lacking in 
a human being? Eliphas had imagined 
that he accumulated and hoarded for 
Moses. But Moses had no children. 

He had married a Jewess of perfect 
beauty, a model of the Oriental harem 


[8] 


BARON MOSES 


type, indolent and passive. She loved 
him well and at set hours fulfilled all her 
duties towards her lord and provider, 
not to mention supplementary charities 
towards others, which the facile custom 
of our Occidental morals permits. 

The baron was not jealous, for the 
friends of his wife showed him the great- 
est respect in the world, and it was con- 
sideration and homage that his gentle 
and harmless vanity craved. Happy in 
his home, the millionaire never thought 
of seeking love outside of it. What could 
he have found that he did not have at his 
own hearth? Besides the feeling that one 
can buy everything, even what is not be- 
yond price, permits one to enjoy every- 
thing in a dream that embraces all, while 
a conscious act would realize pleasure 
only in fragments. 

Avarice did not enter into his motives 


[9] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


of action. What could be invented, what 
could be found to appropriate all the 
happiness of this world, to live one’s life 
in full? Luxury is an amusement that 
rapidly exhausts itself, when one can de- 
sire nothing without obtaining it, when 
the privation of a day does not whet the 
joy of satisfying a desire that had become 
a pleasure by anticipation. So there was 
nothing to look forward to on that side. 
What he wanted, he could have: hence he 
wanted nothing. 

The pleasures of the table required 
certain aptitudes which Baron Moses 
ostensibly lacked. After futile efforts to 
develop the vices of the palate, the man 
who enjoyed simple soups, purees and 
hashes and remained indifferent to the 
rarest wines, had to renounce the pleasure 
of procuring for himself the delights of 
the table, which his friends enjoyed with 


[10 ] 


BARON MOSES 


avidity. But as he was obstinate, he 
tried again, contrary to his innate taste, 
to compete with them and finally suc- 
ceeded in making his digestive organs re- 
volt. This had at least the advantage 
of forcing him to take better care of his 
health. Two seasons of Carlsbad, how- 
ever, effected a cure and he soon found 
himself in the old predicament. 

The racing stable was odious to him, 
since he did not enjoy the singular pleas- 
ure of being methodically robbed in 
broad daylight. Besides he detested all 
forms of gambling. Why gamble, if you 
expect nothing from winning? He was 
persuaded into arranging royal hunting 
parties and agreed, because he was asked 
to do so. But when at his post under an 
oak, like a manorial judge in old royal 
France, a hare or a deer appeared before 
him between two game drivers, like an in- 


[11] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAT 


nocent criminal between two officers of 
the law, he resisted the temptation of 
summary condemnation and prompt ex- 
ecution. Then one day he seriously 
wounded a game-warden. That led to 
sensational reports in the papers, al- 
though the man received a generous pen- 
sion. Another time he himself “was 
struck by a stray shot. From that time 
he no longer appeared at his hunting 
parties, but was represented by his stable 
master, a man familiar with the customs 
and manners of society. 

The theater bored him as much as did 
life itself. What interest was there in 
watching people clamoring to obtain by 
ruse or by force—or even by divine in- 
terference—what they do not possess, 
when the humblest millionaire could 
have simplified all those tiresome form- 
alities when one has, or believes to have, 


[12] 


BARON MOSES 


the universal solution for all problems, 
what pleasure could come from watching 
the development of human conflicts? 

There were the arts. Should he yawn 
at the opera, seated behind naked 
shoulders, always the same, or buy well- 
known paintings relying on the word of 
others, since he himself lacked personal 
judgment? Or should he collect an- 
tiques, snuffboxes, or even bandages, as 
did a famous baron who was reigning in 
Paris society? What purpose was there, 
what pleasure could be derived in the 
pursuit of such fads? 

Finally there were the sentiments of 
communal spirit, love of mankind, the 
desire to serve progress by promoting 
education, the patronage of science, the 
encouragement of discoveries. All this 
is deadly stale, monotonous and of no ap- 
preciable effect upon the present, upon 


[13 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


the man who expects nothing from these 
things in furtherance of what he loves, 
because he loves nothing, and for the 
simple reason that nothing is given nor 
refused to him. 

Still one must do one’s share in the 
charities, no doubt, in order to be with the 
current and to satisfy one’s own con- 
science. Itisnot difficult todothat. At 
Carlsbad Moses had seen on many bour- 
geois houses this pharisaical announce- 
ment: “Protection against beggary.” By 
remitting a certain sum to the community, 
the owners of these houses obtained the 
right to arrest every beggar and to let him 
starve without danger of being accused 
of inhumanity, since they had given their 
share. This is simplified Christianity, 
the gospel as administrative mechanism. 
Moses could not conceive of any other 
manner of rendering assistance. Every 


[14] 


BARON MOSES 


year he remitted to competent authorities 
a certain sum, a sort of supplementary 
tax that he had inposed upon himself, and 
this being done, he would sincerely say to 
himself that night: “I am a good man.” 

_ No, he did not know real goodness, this 
poor man, since the pleasure of procuring 
joy to others by personal privation, by 
personal sacrifice, was necessarily denied 
to him. As he was not wicked and the 
beggars besieged his door, he established 
not far from his residence a welfare 
agency, the expense of which he defrayed. 
There experts in charity work opened the 
letters, soliciting aid, made inquiries and 
allotted the money which he furnished 
them as best they knew. 

To climb the staircase of some rickety 
hovel himself, to be moved by the sight 
of human suffering, to commune in their 
sorrows with his human brothers, to in- 


[15] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


dulge in the infinite pleasure of chang- 
ing misery to joy, of distributing happi- 
ness with his own hands, to try to correct 
the imperfect order of the world and by 
the good coming from an individual to 
efface the evil which had followed in the 
wake of creation: this idea never oc- 
curred to him, could not occur to the un- 
fortunate prisoner of his wealth. 
Immured in the dismal fortress of 
social conventions, he ordered to give, 
but never gave himself. If he founded a 
hospital, if he endowed a public institu- 
tion of any kind, the gift came from his 
cashier, from his reason, not from himself, 
from his pitying heart, from his soul, en- 
joying the happiness the hand so easily 
bestowed. Had Moses been poor, he 
would have followed some trade, as Eli- 
phas had done at his début; he would 
have paid with his own suffering the hour 


[16] 


BARON MOSES 


of sacrifice for others. But being rich, 
this was denied him. He felt that some- 
thing was wanting in his generosities, that 
cost him nothing. But what, he could 
not know. “I am not rich enough to 
wipe out all this misery,” he said and con- 
soled his inability with that convenient 
phrase, without asking himself whether 
he was destroying what was in his power, 
what he should destroy, nor inquiring 
why the vulgar giving of money was not 
accompanied by the moral support which 
came from a contact of eyes, hands and 
souls. 

At least friendship could come to him 
from others and give him that stimulus 
of affection which he had no idea of of- 
fering, but which he would willingly 
have accepted, unable to understand the 
need of reciprocity. But the friendship 
of whom? Beggars, parasites, manu- 


[17 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


facturers and speculators in conspiracy 
against his bank account, members of the 
nobility whom he flattered, not without a 
touch of disdain, and who treated him 
with consideration and even cultivated 
his acquaintance, while they secretly de- 
spised him? The rest of humanity was 
for him a closed book. The rough 
worker of brutal frankness, the simple 
good man of honest character and warm 
heart, the unselfish thinker, who could 
have enlightened him about himself— 
where could he have met those? 

He considered the artizan an enemy, 
because he complains of a social order 
which the millionaire thinks tolerable. 
The little working middle-class seemed 
to him a mean, contemptible type which 
can at pleasure be bought; the man of 
ideas was to him a dangerous agitator, 
who scatters the seed of future revolu- 


[ 18] 


BARON MOSES 


tions; the favored of this world were to 
him a cowardly class of degenerates, who 
did not know enough to unite for the 
purpose of defending their possessions 
against the covetousness of the threaten- 
ing crowd. 

In this state of mind he of necessity 
plunged into the only occupation which 
his circumstances imposed upon him. 
He managed his fortune, bought, sold, 
speculated ingeniously, profiting by the 
movements of the stock market, making 
certain industries prosper as by magic, 
while ruining others—all by the decisive 
action of an irresistible force. Success 
followed him and the useless battalion 
that haunted his shadow only added to the 
fatal calamities of triumph. ‘Those men, 
already the owners of considerable 
wealth, were benefited by his enterprises 
and did not grudge him his victories, 


[ 19 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


though he worked for himself, and not 
for them. On the other hand, those of 
all ranks, whom his maneuvers injured, 
spent their inextinguishable hatred in 
cries of rage, in maledictions and in 
threats, sometimes followed by acts of 
vengeance. 

To those who spoke to him of the 
privileges of his position, he had but one 
answer: “I work.” And, bent under the 
weight of the enormous nightmare that 
crushed his life, possessed by his posses- 
sions, loving his evil, more enslaved than 
the slave who out of his inner revolt wins 
secret liberty, he did in truth work daily 
for many long hours. 

It seemed natural to him that the same 
word could be applied to the sterile labor 
from which he could not expect satis- 
faction of any desire, nor the increase of 
any joy, as well as to the happy gift of 


[ 20 ] 


BARON MOSES 


himself in the fertile effort of acquiring 
fortunes promptly to be dispersed. Is it 
the meaning of work to use yourself up 
without profit to anybody, not even to 
yourself? Of what use is the gain to him 
who between two suns, without even the 
need of knowing it, can lose or win 
millions that offer possibilities of life for 
others? 

On the other hand, one must not lose. 
How would envy look upon that mis- 
chance! With what exultation would 
hatred spy upon the loser! Of what use 
is the unheard-of chance which places 
into the hands of a few mortals an enor- 
mous power, if they prove inferior to 
what simple conservation of a fortune 
demands from an ordinary genius? 
What? He who disposes of everything 
and of everybody, should be stupidly con- 
quered? That is without excuse. As 


[21 J 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


soon as his calculations prove wrong and 
he makes a mistake, prestige is gone and 
honor is compromised. The colossus has 
trembled. ‘To-morrow he will collapse. 

This hourly anguish without possible 
compensation! One must live in ever- 
lasting torment. One must struggle for 
honor. Honor is the effort to create a 
growing tyranny with the tyranny already 
existing, to pursue with new vigor the 
frightful struggle of accumulated gold 
against the effort of flesh and blood which 
is the stock in trade of the miserable 
crowds in their will to live. 

The lowest possible wages for work 
and the greatest possible profit on the 
articles of consumption that promote it, 
that is the fatal principle of every con- 
ceivable operation. Can one wonder that 
the resentment, the disdain of those who 
suffer from it, concentrate upon the man 


[ 22 ] 


BARON MOSES 


whose colossal power denounced him as 
protagonist of a struggle in which every- 
thing serves the abusive power of one in- 
dividual against the right of all to live? 

Poor Moses was in good faith surprised 
at it, for he was incapable of viewing it 
philosophically and of understanding 
what he would have keenly sensed, had 
he remained in the obscurity and the pov- 
erty from which the inglorious life of his 
father had so gloriously saved him. He 
felt that he was envied and this was a 
rather pleasant sensation, that he was 
feared, and all pleasure in his power came 
from the general dread; that he was 
hated, and his surprise was mingled with 
rage. Vividly conscious of the good 
which he happened to do, living by in- 
sufficient mentality in ignorance of the 
evil of which he was the blind tool, he 
looked upon himself as a victim of fate, 


[ 23 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


as a living proof of the injustice of man. 

The rights which he employed and 
claimed as his in the established order— 
in what did they differ from those which 
the humblest farmer claimed, the most 
modest artizan? Luck made his father 
draw a better lot than the others. By 
the right of inheritance he was profiting 
by it. One could only bow before the 
fact. The thought that there might be in 
these matters a question of degree, and 
that according to the word of an ancient 
sage, extreme right ends in extreme 
wrong, the very idea that there was some- 
thing to blame in a social organism which 
makes one member die of plethora, while 
the other wastes away from anaemia, 
seemed to him a simple error of igno- 
rance or hatred. Against these passions 
of disorder, as he said—for his case 
seemed to him of a_ pre-established 


[ 24 ] 


BARON MOSES 


order—there was no other resource than 
force: and Baron Moses never failed to 
resort to it in order to defend his miser- 
able happiness against the despair of 
misery. 

Thus lived the unhappy man, as if 
bound by an absurd wager, barricaded be- 
hind the wall of gold against all joys of 
normal existence: allied to his fellow- 
beings only by the innumerable threads 
of mutual sufferings. He lived, or rather 
believed that he lived, since he did not 
know life but from one aspect, the worst: 
the jaded warped, always whining, em- 
bittered by an obstinate defense of his 
own misfortune. A man outside of 
mankind: a contradiction of existence, an 
aberration of folly. 

Moses suffered in silence, which was 
worse. Had he given free vent to his 
need of expression, he would perhaps 


E25 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


have felt his tragedy less keenly. But to 
whom was he to speak? Who would 
understand the incomprehensible? And 
how could he explain the inexplicable? 
Sadly he locked everything in his inner 
self and the evil became daily more seri- 
ous. A dull irritation against every- 
body and everything rose in him, in- 
creased dangerously in his soul and re- 
vealed itself in unforeseen outbursts, in 
violent rage against unnamed persecutors, 
in incoherent threats that seemed without 
point. 

Contradiction seemed unbearable to 
him. It even became difficult to agree 
with him, unless one repeated exactly his 
own arguments or exaggerated his senti- 
ments, his fancies. It was curious, how- 
ever, that these strangely changing moods, 
which on some days gave cause to fear for 
his reason, these long intervals of absolute 


[ 26 ] 


BARON MOSES 


silence interrupted by outbursts of rage, 
which even his wife could appease only 
in trembling, did not in the least seem to 
impair his business sense, his remarkable 
perspicacity as financier. He became 
more and more absorbed in his work, per- 
tinently discussed whatever concerned his 
business and prolonged whatever was left 
in him of healthy vigor by his habitual 
activity. 

His friends, if that term can be applied 
to them, accepted their fate, when the 
baron isolated himself more and more, 
fled from contact with his like and en- 
trenched himself in a fortress of irony, 
from which nobody but the baroness 
could lure him forth. But he grew 
worse, his business was neglected with 
disgust, and after an insignificant loss due 
to a lapse of memory, it could no longer 
be doubted that he was suffering from 


[ 27 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


monomania, so he had to be watched in 
and outside of his home. 

For Baron Moses was preoccupied by 
and conversed only upon one topic: 
hunger. He wanted to know why so 
many letters which he had received in 
the course of time contained the phrase: 
I am hungry. He wanted to know 
the meaning of it. Why were people 
hungry? He had never been hungry, 
nor anybody he knew. Why did those 
troops of beggars repeat this incompre- 
hensible phrase at all street corners? It 
was a conspiracy against the unfortunates 
that were not hungry. What was the 
police doing? There seemed to be no 
government at all. All the cabinet 
ministers were anarchists. “The hungry 
will get possession of everything. We 
are approaching the end of the world.” 

Sometimes he varied the theme: “Why 


[ 28 ] 


BARON MOSES 


am I deprived of the right of being 
hungry? That is unjust. Everybody 
should have his turn. Others should be 
tormented by those who are hungry. I 
want to be hungry now.” And for days 
the unfortunate man refused all food in 
order to experience the supreme joy of a 
tortured stomach. Then the wretched 
esophagus did its work and, half suf- 
focated, in spite of his revolt, the man re- 
ceived the nourishment which he had in 
his folly refused, a folly which really 
bordered on reason, since the ordeal could 
only result in prolongation of his ills. 
Thus did an incessant struggle begin 
between the ruses of the madman and his 
guards, the latter trying to surprise him 
by forcing some dainty upon him, the 
former feigning to satisfy them, while he 
stealthily threw out upon the street what 
was supposed to have been his meal, 


[ 29 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


Concentration upon one single object, 
one idea, however unreasonable, will at 
the end triumph over the most prudent 
and best balanced mind. In spite of the 
scrupulous watch kept over him, Baron 
Moses was fasting. A meal apparently 
accepted with good grace created the im- 
pression that his resistance had ceased 
and vigilance slackened. During an in- 
terval of greater or lesser duration the 
spasmodically contracted stomach did not 
open to receive any nourishment. 

One day the ruse succeeded to the ex- 
tent that the organ, finally revolting, im- 
periously claimed its due. With closed 
eyes, silently doubled up, Moses felt a 
keen pain convulsing him. His thin face 
contracted in the effort not to utter a 
sound to attract attention. And when an 
interval of calm followed, Moses thought 
“That is hunger,” and in spite of his 


[ 30 ] 


BARON MOSES 


agony was delighted at the success of 
his scheme. Motionless, huddled up in 
his armchair, he rejoiced in anticipating 
the voluptuous sensation of conquered 
hunger and the two silent watchers, 
thinking him asleep, noiselessly retired. 
No sooner had they disappeared, when 
Moses started and ran across the room 
with the air of a victor. He is hungry, 
he has cramps and convulsions that shake 
him are indubitable proof that his in- 
testines are contracting with the vulgar 
need of nourishment. When one is 
hungry, one must tell everybody about 
it, with a plaintive note and outstretched 
palm. That is the rule, that is the cus- 
tom which so often disturbs the peace of 
those whom God has refused the privi- 
lege of being famished. Bolts separate 
him from the street. But he must speak, 
he must tell the passers-by of his experi- 


[31] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


ence. Hewilltry to getout. He knows 
where the double key of the door is hid- 
den. With one bound he is in the 
stairway, in the court. The porter’s 
lodge is vacant. Baron Moses is on the 
street. 

He loses no time. ‘Two steps from his 
residence he meets a busy bourgeois. 
The hungry man hurries up to him: “Sir, 
I beg you, I am hungry, very hungry. I 
have not eaten in three days.” Uncon- 
sciously he imitates the very inflections 
and attitudes of the mendicants that used 
to pursue him. Imitation comes so much 
easier to him, since hunger has him 
really in its grip; for the pangs of hunger, 
crying hunger, will not cease. ‘That this 
suffering was brought upon him by him- 
self, he no longer knows. When he 
weeps, when he whines, when he speaks 
of his misery, when his poor hand, almost 


[ 32 ] 


BARON MOSES 


that of a skeleton, vainly stretches forth 
and the voice tremulously begs for a sou, 
this is no longer a comedy. He is really 
hungry, and he begs for a little bread, 
and it is refused him, the Baron Moses 
von Goldschlammbach! 

Repulsed with a gesture of disdain or 
a word of menace, he goes from one to 
the other, he insists, he laments and cries: 
“T am hungry.” His breast heaves with 
sobs, his eyes are haggard, his lips are 
trembling, his head moves in response to 
the vertigo that seizes him. If people 
had looked at him, if they had listened to’ 
him, they could not have helped pitying 
that miserable fleshless body, this remnant 
of a human form; they would have been 
touched by those cries of mortal anguish. 
But they did not even glance at him, he 
was not heard, he was passed by un- 
noticed. 


[ 33] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


Neither good, nor wicked, these peo- 
ple had no time to stop for him—that was 
all. Did he not do so himself formerly? 
Vaguely, in the whirlpool of madness 
which was gripping him, the haunting 
vision of the past made him recognize 
in gestures and in words, that were once 
his very own, the idea which closes upon 
and paralyzes these passive sympathies. 
“We cannot succor all ills.” They did 
not say those words, but the madman 
heard them. He heard them in his soul 
which had so often prompted them. He 
recognized himself in the others, he felt 
himself living in that refusal to let live 
which had come from him and now re- 
turned to him. O frightful ordeal! It 
is he who now implores and who is re- 
pulsed. His present need cries for suc- 
cor, and the callousness of the past will 
and can not hear and it is his own pain 


[34] 


BARON MOSES 


which palpitates at the barriers of his 
own closed heart. 

What does that mean: “We cannot 
succor all ills?’ Why can it not be done? 
One could do it, if one had the will. 
Who knows it better than he, whose use- 
less safe is spouting pity converted into 
currency? He wants to cry out: “I have 
the secret of it!” He feels that one must 
give, give all, as demanded one of his race, 
whom that race denied. 

Now he understands. He will give, 
for the suffering of want has for the mo- 
ment conquered the madness born out of 
the abundance of riches. The light of 
reason brightens the somber clouds and 
the truth shines suddenly forth, im- 
mediately after to sink into the night. 
Moses will give all; that he has decided. 
Nobody shall suffer again as he is suf- 
fering,—thanks to him, Baron Moses! 


[35 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


Through him the ultimate misery of 
hunger will be forever abolished. But 
for the realization of that supreme joy he 
must live, he must first appease his own 
hunger, and succeed in having somebody 
give to Moses in order that Moses may 
give in his turn. Hundreds of millions 
for but one single sou! The wager is 
made, but nobody accepts it. The pas- 
sers-by turn away their heads, and the 
sou which should be given is not forth- 
coming. 

The beggar millionaire becomes furi- 
ous; he foams with rage; he explodes 
with invectives. 

“Ts nobody going to call the police?” 
somebody exclaims. 

At this word, which even yesterday 
was his own appeal for help, Moses is ter- 
tified. Hesees himself pursued, tracked, 
submitted to the brutality of the officers 


[ 36 ] 


BARON MOSES 


of the law, who will not understand him, 
whom it is their duty to protect and de- 
fend. And he starts to run, hurling 
his cry of hunger at random, while 
the indifferent crowd is absorbed in the 
attractions of the show windows. 

Moses has only one sensation now, one 
thought, one goal: to eat, eat by all means, 
no matter where, norhow. Heno longer 
sees the men from whom he had expected 
relief. With the irresistible will of a 
beast, haunted by the sovereign instinct, 
he wants to satisfy a need which cannot 
wait. He wants food and because he 
wants it, he acts. 

How he got there he does not know; 
but he has entered a bakery and stretches 
out his hand. He touches, he seizes, he 
steals a loaf of bread, the object of his 
feverish desire, the innocent cause of so 
many ills, so much sorrow. 


[ 37] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


Then the congestion is followed by re- 
action. He collapses, motionless, and 
human pity stirs at last . . . too late. 

If Moses had recovered, who knows 
what kind of a man he might have become 
of that crucial experience? 

But Moses is dead. The poor million- 
aire had to become insane, to be illumined 
by a flash of reason, and it is from the 
touch of death that on the threshold of 
the beyond he conceived the meaning of 
BiG. k 

One could philosophize about this 
story. I have seen it acted on the Shake- 
spearean stage of our real life, that life 
which knows no pity, and I have only 
disguised the facts. 


[ 38] 


SCHLOME THE FIGHTER 


The story that I am going to tell is 
founded upon fact. I wrote it as it was 
dictated to me by a man who witnessed 
in the synagogue the dramatic scene of 
which Schlome the Fighter was the hero. 
It seems to. me that it is worthy of pub- 
lication, as much for the psychological in- 
terest of the plot, as for the light which it 
throws upon customs foreign to us. 

It deals with one of those poor Polish 
Jews in long trailing coat, with un- 
trimmed beard and shabby locks, whose 
curious shining side curls tumbling over 
his ears, suggests a spaniel coming out of 
the water. Schlome (or Solomon) Fuss 
was a tailor. It is a very useful trade, 


[39 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


but you cannot become rich by it in one 
of the poorest villages of eastern Galicia. 

The hamlet of Busk, two steps from 
the Russian frontier, shows unmistakable 
signs of the most lamentable poverty. 
However, one should not always judge 
the wealth of men by their appearance. 
In spite of the indescribable hovels in 
which the Jewry of Busk is crowded, it is 
said that the fortune of some individuals 
is rated by the thousands. They are the 
Rothschilds of the place. The rest cut 
each sou into eight and do not indulge in 
the luxury of clothes. But, whatever, 
one may do to economize, the strongest 
web is bound to yield and when the hole 
grew beyond reasonable size one had to 
resort to Schlome to have him apply the 
redeeming patch. Piecing together, cut- 
ting, sewing, Schlome was an expert in his 
art. ‘Thus he managed to eke out his ex- 


[ 40 ] 


SCHLOME THE FIGHTER 


istence and that of his wife Leah and five 
children. At the time when our story be- 
gins, Leah was expecting another. 

It was in the year 1848. What events 
crowded into that memorable year! A 
strong breath of freedom was sweeping 
across the hills and plains of the old con- 
tinent, a longing for justice. The people 
were all rising against their oppressors, 
and the thrones were tottering. It was a 
beautiful dawn of hope. But alas! what 
a night followed that day... . 

One must not imagine that the poor 
Jews of Busk were ignorant of these hap- 
penings. ‘They perceived very well that 
an unusual force was moving the world 
that year, when his Majesty, the Emperor, 
honored them with three successive con- 
scriptions. 

Until military service became obliga- 
tory for all in 1866, the Galician Jew had 


[ 41 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


never ceased to protest against the noble 
trade of arms. Orthodoxy, not coward- 
ice, made him shun the barracks. Once 
enlisted, he had to renounce eating kosher 
meat; a terrible necessity for those who 
rigorously followed the precepts of their 
Law. An even greater evil was the fact 
that they had to break the Sabbath by 
being forced to work on that day. As for 
whom and why they were fighting, they 
did not know. They would have under- 
stood, had they faced the eventuality of 
being killed in the defense of Jerusalem. 
But to risk their life in some quarrels of 
the Christians—how absurd! 

These were the reasons why the Jewish 
communities of Galicia tried to save their 
youth from military service. They suc- 
ceeded in doing so by the simplest strata- 
gem. What did the emperor want? A 
certain number of soldiers to be killed 


[ 42 ] 


SCHLOME THE FIGHTER 


according to the rules of warfare? They 
furnished him his share. The Emperor 
was satisfied, and so was Israel. But how 
was that miracle to be accomplished? 

All communities in Galicia, where a 
sufficient number of Jews resided, were 
divided into Christian and Jewish dis- 
tricts. ‘The census made known the num- 
ber of inhabitants of each section and in 
proportion to the population was deter- 
mined the number of conscripts which 
each was to furnish. Now the Galician 
villages were at that time invaded by Jews 
from Russian Poland who had fled across 
the border to escape from the horrible 
persecutions to which they were subjected 
under Czar Nicholas. 

These refugees fortunately did not 
share the Talmudic orthodoxy of their 
Galician co-religionists, and _ besides, 
being bare of all resources, they had no 


[ 43 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


objection to donning the uniform. Thus 
the bargain was assured in advance. 
Bribing into complicity the police and 
the gendarmerie, the Russian Jew, duly 
paid, assumed the civic status of his 
Galician brother and served in the ranks, 
while the latter remained in his Galician 
home, fed on kosher food, abstained from 
all work on the Sabbath and dreamed of 
a restored Jerusalem. 

Until the year 1848 this system had 
functioned to general satisfaction. But 
that year, with war in the interior, in Italy 
and in Hungary, the emperor needed 
more human blood. Thus, as said before, 
the poor Jews of Busk had to suffer three 
conscriptions, like all other subjects of the 
Empire. Such things happened also in 
France in 1813 and like many subjects of 
Napoleon, the Jews of Galicia were will- 
ing to pay a good price in order to be 

[44]. 


SCHLOME THE FIGHTER 


spared the glory of heroes. However, 
the meager purse of these people could 
not bear the triple demand for human 
flesh. Those of Busk were still able to 
buy about four men a year, which 
was their ordinary tribute, but to fur- 
nish twelve men was a sheer impos- 
sibility. 

At the first and the second conscriptions 
they succeeded by some chance in getting 
out of their dilemma. They mortgaged, 
they sold in order to save the holy ark, 
and the God of Abraham had the joy of 
seeing all the sheep of his flock intact. 
But when the third conscription came, 
they were without resources, The supply 
from Russian Poland had become more 
rare and the demand being greater, the 
price of a man had increased beyond all 
proportion. All the safes had been emp- 
tied before; the poor people found them- 


[45 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


selves at the end of their means. By a 
supreme effort they succeeded in obtain- 
ing three substitutes. But for the fourth, 
nobody could be found. They had to re- 
sign themselves to choose from Israel it- 
self a victim for the bloody tournament of 
Christian barbarism. 

The idea of drawing lots among the 
young men who had passed their twenty- 
first year, as the law required, never oc- 
curred to them. The grand council 
directing the affairs at the Jewish com- 
munity and composed of the most pious 
and wealthiest members, realized how- 
ever, that they should not leave to chance 
to decide who was to be offered to take 
part in the holocaust. How could one 
dare to sacrifice one of the rich, represent- 
ing a capital of some five to six hundred 
francs! Does one not even in such crises 
meet with that oligarchy of money, which 


[ 46 ] 


SCHLOME THE FIGHTER 


appropriates all it can of the privileges 
of the less favored classes? 

But an even more serious question pre- 
sented itself. Religious sentiment raised 
above the ordinary rank persons more or 
less distantly associated with the divinity: 
hence it did not permit a “Lerner” to live 
among the uncircumcised. The Lerner 
is the man devoted to serious Hebrew 
studies, he who pours over the Talmud 
and the Kabala. Such men form the real 
aristocracy of Israel, which dates back 
beyond the temple destroyed by Titus. 
A Lerner, who is neither merchant nor 
artizan, is readily accepted by the girl 
with the richest dowry, just as our 
marquis are by the least attractive among 
America’s young millionairesses. So it 
was unanimously decided by the Sanhe- 
drin of Busk to put into a hat the names 
of the lowliest members of the Jewish 


[ 47 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


community and let chance make its 
choice. 

It was the name of Schlome Fuss that 
was drawn. When night came, the gen- 
darmes instructed to carry out the law, 
broke into the home of Schlome, dragged 
him from his pallet, regardless of the 
tears of his wife, and having bound him, 
led the stunned tailor without any ex- 
planation to the police station of the 
neighboring town of Zloczow. With the 
complicity of the judge’ he was there 
furnished a false identification card, his 
dear side curls were cut, he was stuck 
into a brand new uniform, and before 
long he was on his way to the fields of 
Novare, where Charles Albert was prov- 
ing the strength of his arm. Did not 
Candide in the same manner become one 
of the heroes of the Bulgarian army? 

There was only this difference: the 


[ 48 ] 


SCHLOME THE FIGHTER 


handsome Cunegonde was without off- 
spring, while Schlome’s Leah had six 
children to bring up on the pestilential 
air which Providence liberally distrib- 
uted among those upon whom were 
heaped all the evils of the world, so they 
could in time better appreciate the ever- 
lasting beatitude of the elect. Provi- 
dence apparently favored Leah and her 
six children, for none of the trials of 
poverty were spared them. It was mi- 
raculous that they survived. I dare 
say they thrived on it. That race will 
never die. What can be more humiliat- 
ing to our multi-millionaires who feed on 
all sorts of medicine and see their precious 
bodies waste away in their palaces from 
scrofula and tuberculosis! Though they 
shivered with cold and were faint with 
lack of food, Leah and her six children 
persevered in the irritating habit of 


[ 49 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


living. ‘The community which had ren- 
dered them assistance in the secret hope 
that “this cannot last,” finally bravely 
undertook to care for them. 

Two years later, in 1850, when the war 
was over, there appeared in the village 
a splendid soldier with braid and gilt 
and boots, a saber at his side and medals 
on his chest. Without a word he 
directed his steps towards the hut of 
Schlome Fuss. He entered and there 
was an explosion of cries, a tempest of 
ejaculations. Men followed him with 
heavy baskets, which were opened at the 
door and from which he extracted the 
most extraordinary victuals. All night 
the hut echoed with laughter, song and 
kisses. There was no doubt about it. 
The soldier who had returned with glory 
and braid, the sub-officer decorated with 
medals that meant a pension, if you 


[ 50 ] 


SCHLOME THE FIGHTER 


please, was Schlome, the miserable little 
Jew whom the gendarmes had dragged 
forth from the village, a rope about his 
neck. ‘Those same men, O miracle!—to- 
day exchanged with him the military 
- salute and treated him with respect. 

He was surrounded, was questioned by 
his fellow citizens: but the only answer 
he had for them was to tinkle the florins 
in his pocket.* He was a hero. A 
modest hero, for he did not show him- 
self vain of his grandeur, they remarked. 
They noticed, too, that he loved to re- 
main shut up in his home and that 
he especially delighted in the company 
of his latest-born, little David, who had 
come into the world during his absence. 


*It may cause some wonder that fortunes could so 
readily be made in war. But the turmoil of those 
times permitted Jewish and Christian soldiers a rather 
lucrative trade. They deserted from one army to en- 
list in another; then they returned to their flag, join- 
ing another regiment under a new name. Thus they 
wetfe able to realize handsome sums in a rather ven- 
turesome trade with military glory. 


[ 51] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


The Sabbath came and Schlome took 
his prayer-cloak and as before his army 
experience went to the synagogue, where 
he participated in the pious exercises of 
his brothers with customary fervor. 

“Schlome is a good Jew,” said they on 
leaving the temple. “He has remained 
faithful to his God. He will be re- 
warded for it.” 

One thing, however, puzzled the peo- 
ple. Whenever any pious man, eager to 
impress upon him the generosity of his 
act, boasted of having helped Leah and 
the children, Schlome would reply only 
with a brief exclamation of wonder. 
Never did a word of thanks leave his lips. 
This was remarked and variously com- 
mented upon. Finally it was agreed that 
Schlome was a good Jew, but an ingrate. 

Schlome had returned in time for the 
feast of the New Year in September, 


[ 52] 


SCHLOME THE FIGHTER 


which is ten days later followed by that 
of Yom Kippur, the Great Atonement 
Day. Nobody observed the fast more 
rigorously than the young soldier, for on 
this day it is forbidden even to drink a 
drop of water. At the synagogue he 
prayed as usual, his prayer cloak thrown 


over the uniform, for he was only on 
leave. 


After the prayers the rabbi ascended 
towards the tabernacle to take the sacred 
Scroll of the Law, and according to pre- 
scribed forms read certain chapters. But 
to the amazement of all, Schlome 
plunged forward, stepped before the of- 
ficiating Minister and laying an impious 
hand upon his arm, barred the way tothe 
tabernacle. A clamor of indignation, 
terror and rage followed this sacrilege. 
With an unanimous impulse the crowd 
rushed towards the blasphemer to punish 


[53] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


him for his crime. He was insulted, 
threatened to be dismembered, to be 
killed outright. But Schlome dominated 
the crowd and with saber drawn held 
back the most daring. Some coats were 
torn and some faces scratched, before 
calm was restored in the sacred place. 
Standing on the topmost step, the point 
of his saber against the floor, Schlome 
said with resonant voice: 

“Listen to me. I want to speak.” 

Stupefied, terror-struck by his attitude, 
the crowd lapsed into silence, and the 
soldier continued: 

“T, Schlome Fuss, forbid you to open 
the tabernacle. You are not worthy to 
read the word of God in the sacred book. 
For you are wicked, you are sinful, you 
are an abomination in Israel. You have 
allowed me to be dragged away from my 
home at night. You have sold me even 


[ 54] 


SCHLOME THE FIGHTER 


as Benjamin was sold by his brothers. 
You have exposed to abject misery my 
wife Leah, and my children, who lived on 
the produce of my labor. All this you 
have done, in order that you might 
cowardly save one of your own. You 
hoped that a bullet would make an end of 
me and remove the proof of your crime. 
But God has protected me and here I am. 
I return as avenger. I declare to you to- 
day, the day of the Great Atonement, that 
you will not perform the holy ceremony 
on which depend life and death of each 
creature, and that you will not be par- 
doned, unless you offer me full reparation 
for your odious crime. 

A voice rose: “Let-us call the gen- 
darmes!” and the crowd burst into cries 
of insulting approval and dashed out to 
summon armed force. 

But the gendarmes were now the 


[55] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


friends of Schlome Fuss. When they 
heard what had happened, they found 
the incident rather amusing and declared 
that they could not enter the synagogue 
without a formal order. Who would 
issue it? There was no tribunal in 
Busk. 

The outraged worshipers went to the 
Christian syndic, who replied that he had 
no authority over the synagogue. The 
police court was fifteen miles from the 
village. Even had it been nearer, a Jew 
cannot go on horseback or in a carriage 
on the day of the Great Atonement. 
They had to renounce their desire to see 
Schlome punished at the risk of not per- 
forming the ceremony indispensable for 
that absolution which our weakness needs. 

They returned to the temple and found 
Schlome, his saber still unsheathed, stand- 
ing guard before the tabernacle. 


[ 56] 


SCHLOME THE FIGHTER 


The rabbi approached in humble at- 
titude. 

“Schlome,” said he with tremulous 
voice, “what do you want us to dor” 

“You will go with me to-morrow,” re- 
plied he, “and with the whole council you 
will on your knees beg pardon from my 
wife and my children.” 

“So be it,” said the rabbi resolutely, 
“we shall do it.” 

“That is not all. You must pay me an 
indemnity. I need the money to keep my 
family while I finish my term of service. 
I have still some years more to serve. I 
have made my account. I demand three 
hundred and fifty florins, and not a sou 
less.” 

“But, unfortunate man, how can we 
pay such an exorbitant sum? Do you 
want to reduce us to misery, commit 
against us the crime which you say 


[57] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


we committed against you and yours?” 

“T need three hundred and fifty florins 
to-day. Without producing them you 
will not observe the Great Atonement.” 

“But you know that our hands must not 
touch money on this day.” 

“That does not matter. There is my 
prayer cloak at my feet. Go home, fetch 
your silver, the jewels of your wives and 
daughters. Heap your treasures on this 
cloak until I think they suffice to balance 
my claim. The doctor is a just man, he 
will guard them and to-morrow after you 
have prostrated yourself in the dust be- 
fore Leah and my children, you can re- 
deem your valuables in coin.” 

They tried to postpone action, to pro- 
tract the discussion. 

“Do you not see that the sun is advanc- 
ing?” said Schlome. “If you wait, it will 
be too late for the Great Atonement.” 


[ 58] 


SCHLOME THE FIGHTER 


Thus the jewelry was brought forth 
and heaped upon the cloak and when he 
deemed it enough, Schlome said simply. 

“That will do.” 

The doctor, from whose son I have the 
story, guarded the treasures and Schlome 
demanded to be called to read the first 
passage from the Bible. 

“That honor,” said he, “reserved to the 
most pious and most venerable among 
you, is mine by right, since you have all 
been wicked and I was your victim.” 

Having said this, he put back his saber 
in its sheath and left his post of combat. 
He took up a prayer-cloak, wrapped it 
about him and solemnly pronounced the 
formula of the benediction which pre- 
cedes the reading of the book. 

The sacred writings had been taken 
from the Tabernacle. Bending over the 
holy text, Schlome read with loud voice 


[59] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


the first verse; another followed and the 
ceremony took its course without any 
other incident to trouble the piety of the 
congregation. When the first stars ap- 
peared in the sky, the Jewish community 
of Busk, according to their Creator’s law, 
could peacefully, after the cruel ordeal, 
break the fast of the Great Atonement. 

The following day the whole council 
came to kneel on the threshold of 
Schlome’s hut and publicly made amends. 
The three hundred and fifty florins were 
paid. Leah, who was an_ industrious 
woman, immediately hired two assistants 
and reopened the tailor shop. After 
settling his accounts before he returned 
to service, Schlome discovered that he had 
one hundred florins too much. He made 
a gift of this sum to the poor of all creeds. 
The synagogue was scandalized, but sub- 
mitted to this supplementary penance. 

[ 60 ] 


SCHLOME THE FIGHTER 


Two years later Schlome was honorably 
discharged from the army, and on his re- 
turn to the village resumed his old busi- 
ness. He made his side-curls grow again 
and slowly returned to the wonted life of 
the Jewish artizan of Galicia. On seeing 
him pass through the village, so quiet, 
gentle and humble, whoever did not know 
his story, would have been surprised to 
hear that his name was Schlome Sellner, 
which means Schlome the Fighter. 

He had really fought for his right. 
He had come out of the fight a victor. 
I wish you the same courage and the same 
luck, my readers, 


[61] 


IN ISRAEL 


Next to the Sprudel, the Polish Jew is 
undoubtedly the greatest curiosity in 
Carlsbad. The Occidental who comes 
here unprepared, is startled by these 
strange figures. In groups of twos or 
threes you meet these squalid creatures, 
drab of color, yet of shining aspect, in 
the close-fitting sheath of long coats that 
flap about the heels, the head crowned 
with a little black skullcap, on which in 
place of a hat towers a headgear in form 
of a can made of furlike material, or a cap 
of black silk rising in straight line and 
suddenly flattened out like a pancake. A 
strong nose, between the bristles of a beard 
that no steel has ever touched, a passionate 


[ 62 ] 


IN ISRAEL 


mouth, the burning eyes of the Oriental, 
and the whole framed in corkscrew curls 
that dance and bob to and fro before the 
ears: these are the features that strike at 
first sight. : 

These Jews of Galicia come to Carls- 
bad to be cured of Asiatic ailments ag- 
gravated by consanguine marriages. Al- 
though they resemble one another in habit 
and manner with all the shades of dif- 
ference from the most meticulous care of 
their person to the most repugnant neg- 
lect, nothing is more awkward than the at- 
tempt to reduce them to a common type. 
No doubt the Jew of classical model with 
prominent nose, is frequent, but the 
majority differs from the accepted type. 
The Tartar blood is met with frequently, 
showing itself in flattened faces, a nose 
that seems to be crowded between two in- 
solently open nostrils; the yellow skin, 


[ 63 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINATI 


on the other hand, the spare beard and the 
squinting, obliquely slit little eyes reveal 
the Mongol origin. Then there is the 
good Russian giant, who, judaized, sug- 
gests his Slav descent by his fleshy nose, 
thick lips and childish smile. How 
many more signs of divers racial origin 
the ethnologist could discover among this 
people, far more mixed than they them- 
selves believe and than those pretend who 
make war upon them! 

In the West the man from Judza has 
mixed with Latin or Basque blood, 
which has completely modified the ex- 
terior, if not the soul of the individual. 
In the Orient, that vast caldron of Asiatic 
Europe, where so many divers elements 
met and melted at the hazard of unfore- 
seen movements of invading cohorts or 
emigrating tribes, it has even happened 
that a Jewish slave converted a royal 


[ 64 ] 


IN ISRAEL 


Christian sweetheart and that a whole 
people were induced to follow their 
master’s example. There is the incident 
mentioned by Karamsin; he tells about a 
Mongol people, the Khazars, established 
on the Volga, who in the eleventh century 
collectively embraced Judaism, a step 
which came so much easier for them since 
they had already circumcision. That ac- 
counts for all the strangely mixed types, 
in whom through their diverging traits, 
one recognizes a feature common to all: 
the restless eye of Asia, kind with a kind- 
ness limited by shrewd observation, il- 
lumined by desires which a feigned 
humility appeases, obsequiously pro- 
vocative and playfully sending forth 
the subtile ray which seeks the weak 
point like the flash of a fine blade of 
steel. 

This is the one trait really common to 


[ 65 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


those Polish Jews in whom I daily dis- 
cover new traces and surprising accents 
of the most diverging types. The pure 
Semitic type sometimes offers us images 
of Jehovah as a beautiful patriarch, a- 
bundantly bearded, muscular, well 
shaped, masterful like the Moses of 
Michael Angelo. Genuine Christ figures, 
sad, gentle dreamers, the pale faces 
brightened by reddish down, the eyes lost 
in contemplation of I do not know what 
vision, pass along the street, followed by a 
legion of apostles, such as Leonardo 
sketched for the fresco in Milan. A little 
further on there are the sages of the Tem- 
ple, with whom the boy Jesus argued, big, 
white silhouettes, fleshless, with reddened 
eyelids, or gnomes with contracted eye- 
brows, agitated by ancient Biblical fury 
in defense of the Law. ‘The Bible and 
the Gospels pass before the eye in a mov- 
[ 66 | 


IN ISRAEL 


ing panorama, surrounded by lesser 
coryphees, deplorable descendants of the 
usurers driven from the Temple, whose 
business the Church has taken up with so 
much success. I say nothing of the 
saintly women represented by frightful 
little wrinkled old hags, whose heads, 
shaved as the law demands on the day of 
their marriage, are covered with caps of 
black silk or a mess of glued hair as sub- - 
stitute for a wig. 

All the men, whether rich or poor, 
superb or hideous of appearance, of cor- 
rect bearing or of repulsive dirtiness, have 
a distinctive costume, the long coat trail- 
ing to the ground and the greasy curls 
hanging over their temples. The hair is 
almost always cut short, excepting those 
side meshes which no steel must touch; 
the hirsute virginity of the beard, too, is 
supposed to be a homage to the Creator. 


[ 67 | 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


As the curls have the quality of curling 
up in dry and straightening in damp 
weather, they present infallible means of 
anticipating atmospherical disturbances. 
As soon as I see them straighten, I take my 
umbrella and have never cause to regret 
it. Moses did not wait for the little 
Capuchin of pasteboard, whose cowl 
drops with the rain and stiffens with the 
sun. 

If not all the sons of Israel bear this 
emblem of those chosen by Jahve, it is 
simply from false shame, from a regret- 
table fear of mockery on the part of those 
who allow the scissors of the impious to 
touch their temples. They adapt them- 
selves to the trend of the century, those 
unfortunates, without a thought of how 
it will be judged above. 

Our Polish Jews are orthodox Jews 
who pretend to respect the law in every- 


[ 68 ] 


IN ISRAEL 


thing. If they wear a little skull cap 
under their hat, it is because the law says 
you should not uncover your head. The 
Turk, the Arab, the Persian and the 
Hindoo do the same. The Jew, liv- 
ing among us, consents to exchange 
with us the customary greeting, but he 
tricks the Gentile by remaining covered 
even if he removes the hat, which is 
supposed to be very gratifying to the 
Eternal. 

When I learned that these orthodox 
Jews of the peculiar sect of Chassidim did 
not accept the ordinary ritual of the Syna- 
gogue and met simply among themselves 
for prayer, I wished to see them adore the 
God of Abraham according to the ancient 
precepts. 

One Sabbath in a small room of a poor 
restaurant I found about thirty men in 
their prayer cloaks, mumbling and hum- 


[ 69 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


ming with noisy ardor. Shabby table- 
cloths, which had not been removed, be- 
trayed the usual purpose of the room. 
There was no ornament whatsoever. Big 
white phantoms, their heads under the 
veil, seemed plunged into the contempla- 
tion of the wall, which faced east. The 
prayer cloak which they receive at the age 
of thirteen and in which they are buried, 
must never be washed. The esthetic side 
of the ceremony is not enhanced by this 
custom. But what does it matter to the 
good Lord? 

A big white figure leaning against the 
wall, was volubly reciting a prayer, 
punctuated by the amens of the audience. 
Then everybody prayed individually, in 
staccato accents, the rhythm marked by 
brusk nods of the head and movements 
of the body, which was violently doubled 
up with the regularity of a machine. It 


[ 70 ] 


IN ISRAEL 


was a strange spectacle to see all these 
specters bow and rise as if keeping time 
with the Creator’s breath. 

I remained on the threshold. Prayers 
surging forth from a neighboring room 
made me turn my head. It had silently 
been invaded by other white phantoms 
under whose white hoods I perceived 
formidable black beards and big dilated 
eyes, ravished with ecstasy. All these 
heads followed the common rhythm and 
I found myself alone in the midst of a 
crowd agitated like a wheat field in a 
wind storm. 

Suddenly the prayers ceased. But the 
rocking movement continued and the im- 
pression was so much stronger as these 
apparitions, now voiceless, in painful 
silence nervously moved those draperies 
of white, streaked with black, in which 
silver spangles were sparkling. Then the 


[71] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


rhythmic invocations of Adonai began 
once more. 

Some veils slip down upon the 
shoulders and I recognize faces familiar 
to me from the morning meetings at the 
springs. The movements gradually lose 
their ensemble rhythm and everybody, 
vigorously reciting his prayer, rocks or 
bends or scans the words by a special 
movement. One plunges his head for- 
ward and throws it brusquely back like a 
duck on leaving the water. I do not ex- 
aggerate, if I say that the man continued 
this movement without interruption for 
three-quarters of an hour. Another rocks 
his head to and fro and makes his curls 
dance alternately from one shoulder to the 
other. A third is on his feet and executes 
the half-turns of a waltz. A giant who 
has a resemblance to M. Poubelle, is 
practicing contortions with his lips and 


[ 72] 


IN ISRAEL 


eyes, evidently meant to express admira- 
tion, reminding of the antics of a prefect 
before his minister. Beside me is the fine 
face of an old man, suggesting the gentle 
philosophers of Rembrandt under the 
arches of a stairway losing itself in noc- 
turnal darkness, impassive with a discreet 
little smile: Contortions and convulsions 
become more violent, whenever some res- 
onant voice surges upward in more 
ardent invocations of the God of Israel. 
Then fatigue asserts itself and all quiet 
down. 

This gymnastic performance, I am told, 
aims to make the body take part in the 
prayers of the soul. Thus the muscles 
and the bones in their way honor the 
Creator. I have often witnessed other 
extravagant performances in the camp 
meetings of American Methodists, who 
are genuine Christians. In reality this is 


L 73 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


a nervous phenomenon like cries and 
dances of the dervish and is to be classed 
with external manifestations of religious 
exaltation, 

What struck me among my Polish 
Jews, whose sincerity is not to be doubted, 
is the ease with which they find their com- 
posure in the middle of this epileptic 
demonstration. A certain  snuff-box 
which was quietly circulating, indicated 
that at least the noses had during these de- 
votions not renounced their earthly ap- 
petite. A sort of Kalmuck beside me 
who furiously bent as low as the ground, 
profited at the moment when his head 
reached the extremity of its orbit, slowly 
to apply the finger to one nostril and send 
the surplus of the other under the table; 
what clung to his beard, was simply re- 
moved with the end of his prayer cloak. 

It is not necessary to describe the cere- 


[ 74 J 


IN ISRAEL 


mony of the sacred parchment taken from 
the tabernacle, which was really a miser- 
able chest, and handed around in its wrap- 
per to be kissed by everybody. Then 
it is piously spread on the table around 
which are called those that are to be 
specially honored; after the reading 
it is ceremoniously replaced in_ its 
container. These customs are generally 
known. 

The only incident worthy of mention 
was the arrival of a strange old man, dry 
and fleshless, head, nose and beard run- 
ning into a point. He was clothed in a 
magnificent long coat of black satin, under 
which were dangling the threads of wool 
prescribed by orthodox Judaism. An 
enormous fur cap covered his head. It is 
the traditional headgear in honor of the 
Sabbath. Little zibelines had lent their 
delicate pelts for the pious function. Our 


[75] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


man, known for his austere devotion, soon 
prayed with an ardor which none of his 
companions could surpass. 

He lifted into the air long white hands, 
evidently well cared for, struck them 
passionately against each other, then rose 
on his tiptoes and brusquely fell back on 
his heels with a violent shock to his body, 
the zibelines participating with tremu- 
lous agitation. Truly this man prayed 
not only with a part of his body, but with 
his whole body. The little zibelines par- 
took of the prayerin their manner. May 
the Lord of men and beasts have enjoyed 
it! 

We were told that this distinguished 
visitor was a very rich man who showered 
deeds of kindness about him. Thanks to 
the generosity of such men, poor unfor- 
tunate invalids can come to Carlsbad to 
take the waters. Our man, who is a great 


[ 76 ] 


IN ISRAEL 


traveler, never leaves without his own 
rabbi. When he goes to a place where 
there are few orthodox Jews, he always 
takes with him a dozen companions, for 
Moses said that there must be at least ten 
to offer prayer. Under these conditions 
¥ am not surprised that Adam and Eve 
turned out so badly. 

As we left, the notables of the assembly 
came to thank us for the honor we had 
bestowed upon them by attending their 
sacred ceremony. We passed through a 
hall in the rear where we found the 
women, who in spite of the open doors 
could neither hear nor see what had been 
going on. The congregation left with us, 
carrying the prayer-mantles folded on the 
shoulder like a traveling cloak; for to take 
them in their hands would have been 
equivalent to work, which is forbidden on 
the Sabbath. With all its beauty this is 


[77 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


the very Pharisaism which had been so 
odious to Jesus. 

The day before we had met many a 
Jew with his handkerchief knotted about 
his waist. That means: “We have 
nothing more in our pockets, we are doing 
no more business, for the Sabbath is about 
to begin.” 

I have recorded faithfully what I have 
seen. Is it any more ridiculous to shake 
one’s head like a duck, than to do any 
other movements in honor of God? I do 
not think so. Christians and Jews are of 
the same human stock. Yesterday I saw 
in the woods some women who were kiss- 
ing the lips and feet of a big plaster Christ 
besmeared with horrible colors. It would 
be difficult, I think, to consider this sort 
of devotion superior to the other. The 
great conflict between Christians and Jews 
is after all only a family quarrel. 


[ 78 J 


IN ISRAEL 


It is said that an old orthodox Jew on 
arriving in Paradise, refused to sit down 
at the right of the Almighty and went to | 
hide in a corner. Called before his 
Creator to explain such strange conduct, 
he admitted that he had nothing to accuse 
himself of, but still refused to accept the 
_honors of heaven. And as the Almighty 
insisted upon knowing his reasons, the old 
man, sobbing with rage, said that his name 
had been disgraced, his race dishonored. 
His son had turned out badly: he had 
become a Christian. 

“Ts that all?” said the Lord. “Well, 
you are not the only one in that case. This 
is just what has happened to Me.” 


[79] 


HOW I BECAME FARSIGHTED 


It was three years ago. I was quietly 
reading in my study, when “M. Magnier” 
was announced. I thought that the editor 
of “L’Evenement” was calling on me and 
ordered to admit him. 

The portiére was raised and I saw a 
handsome old man enter, brisk and rosy, 
correct without exaggeration, and with an 
indescribable air of benign superiority. I 
did not know him. The face was hand- 
somely framed in white whiskers, the gray 
eyes sparkled with amiable animation, his 
linen was dazzlingly white and a wide 
redingote gave him a sort of dignity. Al- 
together the impression disposed in his 
favor. I thought vaguely that he 

[ 80] 


HOW I BECAME FARSIGHTED 


might be some foreign diplomat wish- 
ing to obtain information about France. 
The young man who accompanied 
my visitor was undoubtedly his secre- 
tary. 

The stranger advanced with a kindly 
smile. 

“TJ beg your permission,” said he 
familiarly, “not to remove my hat, for I 
fear nothing as much as a cold in the 
head.” 

Before I could reply he deliberately — 
planted upon his polished cranium a hat 
of high crown and wide rim. He took a 
seat, always with the same smile as of con- 
descension. Evidently he wanted me to 
be at my ease. My face probably ex- 
pressed some surprise. I waited for him 
to speak. 

“Monsieur,” said he, “I must first thank 
you for having received me. Still I am 


[ 81] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


not at all surprised. My name opens all 
doors. When M. Mayer is announced, 
everybody knows what it means.” 

I could not suppress a little start, which 
did not escape my visitor. 

“T see from your gesture that you know 
me,” he continued with a slight inflection 
of modesty. “I was sure of it. General 
Baron de Z. and Marquise de X. said only 
this morning that I was the best known 
man in Paris. But I have talked enough 
about myself. It is you whom my visit 
concerns. I have been waiting long to 
see you. All your friends have been tell- 
ing me: ‘Go and call on him. He is 
charming. He will be delighted to chat 
with you.’ But you may know that I am 
very busy. Pardon me, if I could not 
come any sooner.” 

“I was disposed to pardon my surprising 


[ 82 ] 


HOW I BECAME FARSIGHTED 


visitor, when he brusquely exclaimed, 
“Ah, but tell me, tell me frankly—how 
are you?” 

Completely bewildered, without being 
able to account for my words, I stupidly 
replied: 

“Oh, I am very well, thank you.” 

“Ah, monsieur,” exclaimed my new 
friend with beaming face, “how glad I 
am to hear you say that! You know that 
your health is that of a man precious to 
France. It is fortunate that you are well. 
However, you must save your strength. I 
am sure that you are working too much. 
We have need of you.” : 

Routed, dumbfounded, I listened to the 
flow of words, believing that there must 
be some misunderstanding, and awaited 
the end of the adventure. 

In the meantime the affable old gentle- 


[ 83 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


man, radiant with the good news that I 
had given him, continued, without paying 
attention to my stupefaction. 

“There is something I must tell you. 
What you must especially care for is your 
eyesight. There is nothing as precious. 
How can anybody work with weak eyes or 
with imperfect glasses? You are ap- 
proaching the fifties. Your sight must 
be weakening. Be frank with me. Is 
there nothing the matter with your eyes?” 

To tell the truth my sight had begun to 
grow weaker since afew months. But my 
visitor continued to annoy me. Finally I 
rose, replying drily, 

“No, nothing. I see perfectly well.” 

“Ah, so much the better!” said my 
obstinate caller, remaining seated in his 
armchair. “Well, since you have good 
eyes, do take a glance at this treasure.” 

The hand from which he had stripped 


[ 84] 


HOW I BECAME FARSIGHTED 


his glove, flaunted before me the hand- 
somest little Elzevir in the most elegant 
binding. 

I had barely opened the book when the 
man rose, placed his hand on my shoulder, 
and said with a note of affectionate re- 
proach: 

“Ah, you have deceived me! That is 
wrong. I would not have thought you 
capable of it. What? You tell me your 
sight is good, and you hold the book at a 
distance, which proves to me that you are 
far-sighted, terribly far-sighted, sir. Your 
crystalline lens is flattening, that is all. 
But it is time to interfere. Well, well, 
why did you deceive me?” 

I was as flattened as my crystalline lens, 
and very penitent, too, to have deceived 
so good a friend. I do not know what I 
might have said in apology, but I had no 
time to seek an excuse. Some instrument 


[85] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


appeared before my eyes, and before I 
had time to regain my composure, my 
visual distance had been measured and the 
proof of my deceit was scientifically estab- 
lished. 

“Number 2314,” said the old gentleman 
with an air of authority to the secretary, 
who had so effaced himself that I had 
forgotten his presence. 

The words were barely pronounced 
when the young man lifted a flat box, 
which on entering he had placed on the 
floor, and displayed before my eyes an 
array of glasses, the moving reflections 
of which filled the room with dancing 
lights. 

I said nothing more, as if crushed by my 
irreparable defeat. I gave myself up to 
his mercy. My authoritative benefactor, 
disdaining to abuse his victory and treat- 
ing me like an inert object, without a word 


[ 86] 


HOW I BECAME FARSIGHTED 


placed a pair of eyeglasses on my nose. 
Oh, miracle! I read the Elzevir without 
any trouble. The type seemed to be of 
admirable clearness. The veil which 
had for some time troubled my sight, 
without my being conscious of it, seemed 
to be tearing. I could not conceal my 
satisfaction. My generous friend en- 
joyed his modest triumph. 

“These lenses are nowhere on sale,” 
said he. “I manufacture them myself. I 
spent half of my life in computing their 
thickness and their curvature. They are 
priceless, for unlike others, they do not 
fatigue the eyes. It is a revolution that 
I have made. I can call myself a bene- 
factor of humanity. Your gratitude for 
the service I have rendered you will in- 
crease with your age. I venture proudly 
the prediction: You will never forget M. 
Mayer.” 


[ 87 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


Truly this devil of a man had rendered 
me a service and I could not disguise my 
contentment. 

“T must leave you,” said he brusquely. 
“You are satisfied with me, that is all I 
care for. I have an operation to perform 
at Colonel X.’s, who expects me.” 

It would have been sheer egotism to 
make the colonel wait. M. Mayer, who 
had not removed his hat, now touched it 
lightly with his right hand and then, 
pointing to the pair of eyeglasses on the 
corner of the table, concluded in an off- 
hand manner: 

“Their price is only forty francs.” 

“Oh, never!” said I, recovering my lost 
energy. ‘That is too much by half.” 

“Well, well,” said M. Mayer, “I know 
better than you what they cost me, since 
I make them myself. I alone, do you un- 
derstand? I had thought you incapable 

[ 88 ] 


HOW I BECAME FARSIGHTED 


of disputing such a trifle when I rendered 
you this great service.” 

He did not conclude. He was evi- 
dently suffering from my meanness and 
his pity spared me. I was at that moment 
ashamed of having protested. With a 
gesture of injured benevolence he said in 
a low voice: 

“We'll let it go at thirty francs. I am 
in a hurry.” 

Since that day I am far-sighted. 

Should I add that, having broken one 
of the lenses of M. Mayer’s eyeglasses, I 
easily replaced it with one that cost me 
forty sous? 

Oh, race, vilified by the whole world, 
what Aryan could ever compete with your 


[ 89] 


IMPRESSIONS OF GALICIA 


Napoleon sank deep into the mud of 
Poland. I had never been able to under- 
stand that stock phrase of history, until 
one morning I awoke in the train that 
carried me from Vienna to Cracow. An 
endless plain of blackish mud faced me, 
with a few crippled pines or miserable 
birches that emerge from it at intervals. 
Everywhere were puddles of water, in 
which the dreary light of a dull sky, 
bored and dripping, seemed to be gradu- 
ally fading. Remnants of a meager har- 
vest alternated with weeds, marshes and 
somber spots of stagnant water. As the 
train was speeding along the railroad 
tracks full of coal dust, they themselves 
seemed to revolve like wheels. 


[ 90 ] 


IMPRESSIONS OF GALICIA 


There was no horizon, only one con- 
fused chaos of gray; there were no eleva- 
tions, no depressions, no hills, no valleys, 
nothing but an immovable plain, harbor- 
ing no surprises, no mysteries. The only 
sign of life were the ravens, silent mon- 
archs of this desolate earth; caked with 
black mud, they were seeking food in the 
puddles of this swampy land. Farms 
passed by, hamlets all built of wood. 
There was not a stone visible in this im- 
mense mud hole. The straw roofs, the 
lathed walls, their thin coat of paint, 
barely perceptible, harmonized well in 
their naked sadness with the general deso- 
lation. 

On the roads long teams were lumber- 
ing along, their ladder-like sides arched 
like the skeleton of some monster. The 
low wheels up to their axles immersed in 
mud, painfully turned about in response 


[91 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


to the efforts of the little horses with their 
mud-caked manes. Upon a bed of straw 
were stretched out the travelers: earth- 
stained peasants, immobile, silent. The 
men in long white blouse-like coats, held 
at the belt by a buckle, a leather band 
ornamented with copper nails; the 
women gay in the pink or yellow cotton 
kerchief draping their head and the daz- 
zling loud colors of their waists and skirts. 
Everybody wore high boots, almost up to 
the chin. 

The agile Pole, slavus saltans, is of 
handsome presence and martial aspect. I 
could not exactly say whether his kindli- 
ness is real goodness of heart, but he has ~ 
a charming manner and his vivacity saves 
him from the Asiatic perfidy of the medi- 
tative Slav. With his pipe, his mustache 
and his boots, he could go far. Perhaps 


[ 92 ] 


IMPRESSIONS OF GALICIA 


he was on the road when his tragic history 
ended by an act of infamous brigandage 
which is familiar to everybody. After 
all he has maintained himself; his ene- 
mies tried to kill his language, but it is 
as alive as ever. ‘The annals of that 
nation are by no means closed. 

In all social strata the Tartar type is 
found to be remarkably tenacious, espe- 
cially among people that rarely enter in- 
ternational marriages. At the railroad 
station I saw strange figures that looked as 
if they had escaped from the steppes of 
Asia: yellow skinned, flat-faced, with 
prominent cheek bones, depressed nose, 
open nostrils and a strong jaw. The small 
black eyes, ever shifting and moving in 
their orbits, form a curious contrast with 
the motionless placidity of the face, 
framed by ill-kempt hair and by the spare 


[93 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


beard of the Mongol. Their aspect of 
gentle savagery suggested candor stolidly 
fortified by shrewdness. 

But the most striking feature of the 
railroad stations are the Galician Jews, 
strange black phantoms gliding like 
dream silhouettes across the realities of 
life. ‘They wore the long dark coat pre- 
scribed by the Talmud, with the threads 
of wool hanging from belt to boots amid 
the folds of the garment. Their head- 
gear is a confection of rabbit skin or a 
cap of black silk or a tall hat, furry, with 
many dents and stains of the rust of per- 
haps thirty years. Under these cover- 
ings, fantastic pale faces with big shining 
eyes, move about like little black balls 
from which the inner life occasionally 
emits sparks of fire. Long strands of hair 
hang down upon biblical beards in greasy 
corkscrew curls. The obsequious smile 


[ 94 ] 


IMPRESSIONS OF GALICIA 


of a victim that abandons itself lurks 
about their lips. Silently, as if to escape 
the glances that follow them, they slip 
through the crowd. They seem incarna- 
tions of that state of poverty which is 
coupled with absolute squalor, yet one 
senses an ardent thought under the men- 
dacious surface of exaggerated resigna- 
tion. There is about it the suggestion of 
a prostitution that smiles with deep re- 
serves of revenge. 

All these poverty-stricken people come 
and go, never without some goal, accumu- 
lating patiently crumbs of profit that ac- 
crue from their traffic with all things. 
Spreading over the earth, apparently 
dreaming, their eye is watching the cash- 
box. They are on the alert for every 
chance that presents itself, now and then 
exchanging a word in a subdued voice, 
the body always that of the vanquished, 


L95 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


the soul ever ready for combat. It is said 
that some of these people are wealthy. 
The most miserable among them cer- 
tainly possess the most precious treasure: 
the gift of willing and doing. 

On arriving in Cracow I find the town 
teeming with Jews. A drizzling rain— 
not without good reason—is washing the 
Ghetto whither my curiosity leads me 
first. In ill-smelling alleys, men, women, 
and children are slowly circulating, re- 
signing themselves to accept the bath 
which Providence sends them. Every- 
where at the windows, between unnam- 
able rags, eyes are spying, one knows not 
what. In the depth of the black little 
shops, among dress goods, metals, victuals 
and what not, eyes shine out of the silvery 
waves of a prophet’s beard. Hooked 
noses, clawlike hands seem to grip obscure 
objects and refuse to release them unless 


[ 96] 


IMPRESSIONS OF GALICIA 


the tinkling of money is heard. The 
lips invite and the gesture withholds 
—a hint of which the Christians, so 
ready to blame them, everywhere take 
advantage. 

In the rear shops, huddled together in 
sticky clumps, old women are napping on 
the floor. Handsome young girls with big 
Oriental eyes pass by with engaging 
smiles. The law which forces them on 
their wedding day to replace their lux- 
uriant growth of hair by the frightful wig 
of silk, will soon with the early maturity 
of their race succeed in disfiguring them 
beyond redemption. Grotesque, beard- 
less dwarfs from under immense hats 
throw wicked glances at everything that 
towers above them. Young men with sal- 
low skins and long corkscrew curls that 
form a sort of dancing beard about their 
faces, seem lost in the long coats of their 


[ 97 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


grandfathers and look about with startled 
eyes of an owl in daylight. 

In front of the Jewish restaurants 
crowds stand about talking, regardless of 
the rain. Here are the over-dressed who 
do not hesitate to advertise their wealth, 
as the fine material of their coats and their 
well-kept hats attest. But why is it that 
even under an attractive exterior one still 
suspects that Asiatic neglect of the body? 

We decided to lunch in a Jewish 
restaurant of some reputation. I found 
nothing striking about it, but rare untidi- 
ness and a stale odor of rancid fat. The 
white of the tablecloths appeared only in 
spots. Boiled meats and dumplings were 
floating in oily gravies. Coming out of 
this woeful hole we visited a poor Jewish 
school, the teacher of which, sadly rag- 
ged of appearance, seemed full of enthusi- 
asm. 


[ 98 ] 


IMPRESSIONS OF GALICIA 


A few steps from the school is a ceme- 
tery, a field of weather-worn stones with 
crudely carved emblems, hands present- 
ing the palm or mythical birds hovering 
over an epitaph. The caretaker sug- 
gested a model for Jehovah; his head was 
so beautiful and so imposing that one of 
us wanted to photograph him. But the 
man refused. He had been offered five 
hundred francs for a picture, he said, by 
a photographer who wanted it for a 
paper. But the ancient prejudice against 
representation of the human body—still 
kept alive in Islam—had taken root in this 
Oriental brain and could not be dislodged. 
While an energetic gesture of the old man 
emphasized his implacable refusal to 
pose, a click of the camera gave us a 
snapshot. But the God of Shem had been 
watching. In the evening the plate 
showed in place of the long silver beard, 


[99 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


the big black eyes and the noble smile of 
imperious gentleness, nothing but a big 
hand that hid the whole face. <A fly had 
providentially alighted on the nose and 
brought about this miracle. 

A visit to the castle of the Polish kings 
is really indispensable. Little seems to 
remain of the edifice erected in the four- 
teenth century by Casimir the Great. But 
the monument on the rock has still an 
air of grandeur. It is now used as bar- 
racks and military prison. From the 
heights of the walls one can see the whole 
city with her towers and cupolas. Be- 
yond is the dreary plain of the Vistula, 
desperately monotonous in its uniformity. 
Somewhere within the ramparts are the 
tombs of the kings. But the caretaker is 
sleeping off a jag one knows not where. 
Though the whole garrison has been 
aroused for the purpose, it is impossible 


[ 100 ] 


IMPRESSIONS OF GALICIA 


to discover his retreat. Perhaps he has 
locked himself in with some Jagelon or 
Beleslav in order to be certain of peace- 
ful slumber. Hence there could be no 
interview with the dead kings. 

After a brief walk through the cathe- 
dral we descend into the city. The big 
market place is humming with the noise 
of rustic bargaining. Peasants in white or 
blue coats, profusely braided with red, a 
bouquet of artificial flowers on their hat, 
are absorbed in the smoke issuing from 
their pipes. They accompany their wives, 
who are carrying loads like beasts of bur- 
den. In a big sheet, tied by two ends 
about their shoulders, are kindling, 
cheese, liquor, eggs, poultry, and on top 
of all the boots of the peasant woman, 
which on entering the city were quite 
naturally removed and hung over her 
shoulder. Heavier burdens are heaped 


[ ror | 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


on carts. But be he driver or pedestrian, 
it is the man who wields the family scep- 
ter and who judges the carrying capacity 
of his patient drudge. In all countries of 
the world the market is one of the most 
picturesque sights. Like all races of 
primitive visual education the Slavs are 
fond of glaring colors and brighten by 
the vivid tints of their clothes the un- 
broken sadness of their plains. Blue, red, 
pink and yellow smiles the market square 
of Cracow beneath the drizzling rain. 
The forward surging movement of the 
crowd carries me to the door of St. 
Mary’s, the belfry of which is topped with 
acrown. The nave is full of people. No 
peasant would come to market without 
saying his prayers at St. Mary’s. All 
these people, very self-contained, are ab- 
sorbed in their devotions. The eyes are 
at first dazzled by a barbarous riot of col- 


[ 102 ] 


IMPRESSIONS OF GALICIA 


ors and when they turn from the profusely 
gilt ceiling to this human crowd, prostrate 
in their dream, the Middle Ages seem to 
be alive once more, challenging modern 
criticism, science and philosophy. Men 
and women are on their knees on the tiles. 
Some immovable, their eyes wide open, as 
in rigid ecstasy. Others, less numerous, 
touch the stones with their brows and beat 
their breasts with clenched fists. At the 
height, where in our temples are usually 
seen the faces of the faithful, rows of 
naked feet seem to rise toward heaven 
from heaps of skirts and cloaks, all this 
mass bobbing up and down with every 
movement of the penitent. Evidently one 
can pray as devoutly with the feet as with 
the hands. It seems, however, that 
homage to the Creator might nevertheless 
be preceded by other ablutions besides 
those to be had in muddy brooks. 


[ 103 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


Two steps from the church is the hall 
of cloths, Soukiennitza, where Israel is 
enthroned in all glory. In the attenuated 
light of the long arcade are dancing in 
the breeze cottons and silks of all colors— 
traps for a curiosity soon to be punished. 
The danger is evident from the first, yet, 
as always, heeded too late. 

To the right, to the left, on little seats 
under the silks and the multicolored tex- 
tiles are hidden the Jew and his compan- 
ion, spying on the passer-by. The most 
absent-minded glance at the display is im- 
- mediately seized upon by the couple in 
ambush, and from their fascinating lair 
they plunge upon the innocent, two per- 
fidious tempters whom no rebuff dis- 
courages. The man in luxuriant long coat 
with the side-curls tumbling from be- 
neath a tall hat, and the handsome smiling 
woman engagingly wave little squares of 


[ 104 ] 


IMPRESSIONS OF GALICIA 


silk which flap like flags and make rain- 
bows dance under the gloomy ceiling. 

“There is nothing here,” says a gentle 
voice to the right, “come the other way, 
sir.” 

“This way, look here,” says a voice to 
the left. 

As you hesitate between these contra- 
dictory seductions, affectionate hands 
touch your shoulder or your arm. But 
do not resist, for the caressing fingers sud- 
denly contract and you are caught. How- 
ever, you can not please everybody. At 
these inviting appeals of the silks, dancing 
sarabandes of color, people have come 
running from all sides at full speed. 
What isto be done? You are held by the 
tail of your coat, you are embraced, 
gripped, dragged forth. What is even 
more annoying is the fact that the silks 
apparently of their own volition seem to 


[ 105 J 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


alight upon your arm, with a rustle and a 
flutter as of a million wings. 

“Take, sir, good evening, sir, carry it 
all away!” 

And there you are, burdened with gifts 
from twenty benefactors who stuff them 
into your yawning pockets. If arrested by 
a naive scruple, you stop—you are lost. 
Willingly or unwillingly, your pocket- 
book must open. 

The well-warned man forges straight 
ahead at the risk of leaving something of 
himself in the hands of these far too 
numerous friends. That is what I did, 
not without some regret at rewarding so 
poorly so much affection. Then as by 
magic, with little flutterings of farewell, 
all the light satins vanish at the magnetic 
bidding of Israel. Everything disappears. 
The Jew is silently hurt at the ingratitude 
of the Christian and his precious gifts 

[ 106 | 


IMPRESSIONS OF GALICIA 


fly away as mysteriously as they arrived. 
The wonder is, that one finds one’s pockets 
in their previous state. I must state the 
fact in praise of the shop keepers at the 
Soukiennitza that there is nothing ex- 
tracted from nor added to them. 

The national museum, which is rich in 
revolutionary souvenirs, presents a strik- 
ing contrast of the bloody dramas of the 
past with the present peace of mind which 
perhaps conceals hopes that bear the 
secret of the future. By a strange revenge 
of fate, it is the great Polish magnates 
who at this time govern Austria. The in- 
terest of caste, which remained all-power- 
ful under the foreign reign, is employed 
in the service of similar interests in other 
parts of the motley monarchy and obtains 
in return certain advantages for the 
national cause. The insurrections in Rus- 
sian Poland have found no echo in Gali- 


[ 107 | 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


cia. The scepter of Francis Joseph is 
light. The clergy, being satisfied, suc- 
ceeds in keeping the people contented. 
The Diet manages the affairs of the prov- 
ince in perfect freedom. Badeni and 
Goluchowski govern the conquering peo- 
ple—miraculous return of one of the most 
famous thefts of territory. Russia itself, 
at this hour, offers a no less curious spec- 
tacle, the industry of Warsaw being about 
to conquer the immense Russian mar- 
ket. 

Lemberg (Leopol), the capital of the 
province, is an uninteresting city. There 
I only admired the good Polish faculty of 
drinking and eating everywhere. In the 
groceries, in the confectioneries, at the 
pork butchers, you see nothing but stom- 
achs that are being filled and flooded. 
The Galician pig ingeniously tempts the 
jaded palate. It does not exert itself in 

[ 108 ] 


IMPRESSIONS OF GALICIA 


vain and is mightily aided in its mission 
by a delectable beer. 

One evening, attending the perform- 
ance of an operetta, I had occasion to ad- 
mire the unusually musical quality of the 
Polish language, which to me seems no 
less liquid and sonorous than the Italian. 
I saw pale beauties there, noted as types 
of their race. What especially struck me, 
however, was the perverse innocence of 
their glance, a characteristic trait of Slav 
women. 

I found the synagogue in restive attire. 
In an indescribable turmoil, contrasting 
strangely with the ecstatic silence of St. 
Mary’s, I heard the call of the Shofar, in 
our times the last echo of the trumpet of 
Jericho. 

The next day, in the country about 
Lemberg, I visited the white cottages of 
Ruthenian peasants, where the eternal 


[ 109 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


lamp is burning before saintly images, 
and noticed, not without some surprise, 
farm laborers with Talmudic locks push- 
ing their wheelbarrows with vigorous 
hands. Who has said that the Jews shun 
manual labor? They certainly have the 
rarest aptitude for trade as the Christians 
of the Gospel themselves understand and 
practice it. But you find in the villages 
of Galicia Jewish artisans of all trades, 
and not far from Lemberg is a colony of 
Caraite Jews, who devote themselves ex- 
clusively to agriculture. 

By a singular fatality this energetic 
race, spread all over the earth, always at- 
tacked, yet always alive, has been repre- 
sented in the Christian world by two 
extremes; the most abject poverty, and the 
most insolent money power. The sons of 
Christ, who do not scorn at proper times 
to rake up gold, curse the bank of Israel 


[ 110 ] 


IMPRESSIONS OF GALICIA 


which they are doing their best to emulate. 
Who will speak the word of pity which 
one has the right to expect for the 
wretched strugglers against the severe law 
of life and against law itself? When shall 
one see in the victims of fate and of man 
himself, without distinction of race and 
regardless of history, nothing but a mis- 
fortune which should be remedied? 


[rm] 


BUSK 


A desolate village at the end of Galicia 
close to the Russian frontier, it is, all built 
of wood and mud. In the leprous houses 
the plaster is crumbling, the woodwork 
shows cracks and fissures, and attempts at 
repairs have been made with patches of 
leather, tin and filthy rags. On the cordu- 
roy road-bed of the marshy streets long 
teams are painfully swaying to and fro, 
making the weary traveler bob up and 
down on his couch of straw. Ducks and 
geese are waddling about among the com- 
ing and going of big muddy boots. Out of 
these boots rise the forms of emaciated 
Jews with glowing eyes under Talmudic 
locks; Ruthenians whose coarse hair 


[ 112 ] 


BUSK 


mingles with the sheep wool of their gar- 
ments, Mongols and Kalmucks, red, blond 
or black, with powerful jaws, cheek bones 
abruptly protruding beyond the flat noses 
and little slanting eyes shining out of 
haggard faces; Slavs of divers origin, 
in long white coats, their starlike blue 
eyes beaming a false innocence. A camp 
that has migrated from Asia and been 
suddenly arrested in the mud; and to 
complete the vision, in the open plain a 
village of tents, around which are slum- 
bering a black crowd of half-naked 
gypsies. 

What is most striking in Busk, next to 
the ducks and the geese, is the Jews; un- 
kempt, restless and gentle, carrying on all 
industries and all trades. The poverty of 
this people is extreme. One does not 
know whether they suffer from it or not, 
as they pass along, sordid, lamentable, 


[ 113 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


with a perpetual smile of obsequious envy. 
Perhaps they are not unhappy. 

Their domain is the village square, a 
large parallelogram of greenish swamp 
lined with low huts that are filled with a 
hideous din and bustle. All the length of 
the road, raised in the form of a sidewalk, 
on the trunks of trees or on boxes used 
as benches, huddle frightfully ragged 
forms, motionless, in Oriental resignation. 
Sallow-skinned children with open 
mouths and big sheepish eyes, long wisps 
of hair fluttering about their cheeks, 
fraternize with the ducks on the dung- 
heaps. Strange housekeepers, draped in 
nameless things, carry pails emitting un- 
pleasant odors. Through the open doors 
of the wretched habitations, miserable 
pallets show their rotting straw amid all 
sorts of decaying refuse. 


[114 ] 


BUSK 


Here dwells a race, active, industrious, 
with long agile hands, reaching out for 
sustenance, a patient people, capable of 
the most marvelous endurance as of in- 
credible persistence of effort, contented 
with little, ambitious of everything, 
humble, timid, implacable, charged with 
four thousand years of will power. The 
Pole governs Austria, it is said. The Jew, 
being a universal negotiant, holds in his 
hand the Pole, whether peasant or mag- 
nate. 

“When I want to buy or sell anything,” 
said the Baron of Busk, “whatever it may 
be, I call a Jew. His relations with all 
the markets of the country, his under- 
standing of business, his interest in keep- 
ing me as customer, are to me an assur- 
ance that I am going to be served 
promptly and well. There is no large 


[115 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


landholder in Galicia who for business 
of any kind is not forced to address him- 
self to the children of Israel.” 

The man who spoke thus owns sixty 
thousand hectares. His estate is a manor. 
The greater part is forest, of course. The 
hour of the revolution which will cut up 
into parcels these vast Galician domains 
has not yet struck; I doubt whether any- 
body thinks of it. The Galician, whether 
Slav or Jew, is accustomed to his poverty. 
The agricultural industries bring the pro- 
prietor but little profit, and assure the 
worker only a rather precarious exist- 
ence; but each seems contented with his 
lot. There is fatalism in the blood of 
Asia. 

The very plain castle with large ser- 
vant quarters is surrounded by a beautiful 
park through which flows a river. 
Strange contrast of aristocratic lawns with 


[ 116 ] 


BUSK 


a sprinkling of horticultural artifices 
and the savagery which begins on the 
other side of the wall. 

I was advised to visit the Ruthenian 
church. Irreverently we push open the 
gate of a wild garden, and meet a tall old 
man in black garb and a straw hat of vast 
proportions, absorbed in smoking his long 
pipe. It is the curate. As he bows in 
welcome he displays his handsome, 
smooth, firmly modeled cranium, a pro- 
file of aquiline distinction, softened by a 
pair of eyes, blue as a baby’s. 

A certain vessel hanging on a pole near 
the door receives the friendly pipe and 
the good smoker, without smoking, ac- 
companies us across a field with here and 
there a few centenarian trees, in the 
generous shadow of which nestles the 
modest church, its skeleton of laths cov- 
ered with unpainted tiles. Beside the 


[ 117 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


sacred temple is a barnlike structure with 
gables and a heavy wooden belfry with 
absolutely bare sides. The interior of the 
church is luxuriously ornamented with 
barbaric images, of which the excellent 
old gentleman seems quite proud. He 
shows us his gold embroidered vestments, 
a handsome chasuble with flower design 
of the last century, and he makes us notice 
that it is of French tissue. Some court 
gown of a friend of Louis XV, perhaps, 
which after strange vicissitudes is in this 
quiet place piously expiating the sins of 
departed flesh. 

While the priest naively makes us ad- 
mire a little chapel crudely carved in 
wood with a simple knife, the work of his 
hands on long winter evenings, a dozen 
peasants, men and women, have entered 
and eagerly share the feast spread before 
our eyes. As we pass the altar we find 


[ 118 ] 


BUSK 


on the floor a little wooden box which 
these people had placed there. His last 
art object duly exhibited, the saintly man 
politely salutes and without any transi- 
tion, slipping on a black soutane, in- 
tonates pious chants which the chorus of 
peasants, candles in their hands, duly re- 
peat. 

We are expected at the Jewish ceme- 
tery. We accompany one of our friends, 
who after a brilliant career in the Vien- 
nese press, has come on a pilgrimage to 
the grave of his father, a physician of 
Busk, who had spent his life in nursing, 
succoring and tenderly caring for the poor 
of all races and creeds. As a Jew he had 
helped all the unfortunates of his race 
whose suffering gripped his heart by so 
many bonds of common history. As a 
man, he served humanity, unselfishly, as 
one may well believe, for, judging from 


[ 119 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


the Busk of to-day, the Busk of fifty years 
ago can hardly have assured a fortune to 
the healer of countless ills that Providence 
sent to the poor. The old wooden house 
which had been his home, now resplend- 
ent in a coat of fresh white paint, was 
pointed out to us. After fifty years of 
faithful labor and service, he had simply, 
without any pomp, left it for his resting 
place in the graveyard. | 
At the gate some ragamuffins were 
watching for us and joined us without a 
word. I had once visited the ancient 
Jewish cemetery in Prague, which all 
guides recommend to the tourist. It is 
like an avalanche of old gravestones, that 
had been tumultuously tossed about by the 
hurricane of ages. Elder bushes, a cen- 
tury old and never trimmed by human 
hand, cover the stones with their dark 
foliage. It is difficult to find one’s way 


[ 120 ] 


BUSK 


through this thicket. Fragments of in- 
scriptions are still discernible, clasped 
hands, too, and symbolic birds and heaps 
of little stones deposited by pious visitors 
in homage of the departed. It is an 
ancient custom of the desert, where the 
traveler devoutly adds his pebble to those 
heaped on the mounds. 

I found no trace of this custom in Busk; 
but the hands were there and the birds 
too, still enliven the tombstones with their 
_ primitive images. The Jewish cemetery 
of Busk is a virgin forest, an impenetrable 
jungle of trees, brambles and weeds grow- 
ing in untrammeled freedom. Old trunks 
are molding at our feet; heavy branches, 
beaten down by age or storms, burden 
with their long agony the young shoots 
that sprout between them in the will to 
live. There is no path or anything re- 
sembling one. White birch stems crowd 


Pyar t 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


close together, as in battle array; inter- 
lacing twigs, spines bristling in defense, 
arrest the explorer. 

The miserable troop that had followed 
us in silence got ahead of us at the first 
step, and, passing between the trunks, 
holding apart the branches, slipping like 
adders into the densest thicket, guided us 
to the grave we sought. Humble creatures 
they were, with long bony faces, their 
beards, coats and boots shining with the 
same sticky ochre-like dirt. But there was 
an incredible intensity of life in their 
vivid black eyes, well protruding from 
their sockets and glowing with fire. We 
followed them through the underbrush, 
accompanied by the noise of broken 
branches, lashed by rebounding twigs, 
stumbling perhaps over mossgrown stones 
buried in a mess of dead wood. A sump- 
tuous living frame for this picture of 


[ 122 | 


BUSK 


death they were, and they suggested a 
sensation more powerful and more beau- 
tiful than our pretentious cities of the 
dead, full of grimacing figures and dis- 
graced by mendacious epitaphs. 

At last we reached a group of four 
stones which our guides had already 
stripped of their covering of vines and 
brambles. Their fingers scratched the 
lichens to lay bare the writing which the 
stone would jealously keep secret. Then 
all the hands pointed to a stone leaning 
over as in a faint: “There it is.” 

And suddenly all these haggard faces, 
even when they smiled, contracted as with 
suffering, were ennobled by the solemn 
gravity of the sublimest sentiment known 
on earth. The eyes were fixed in con- 
templation of the mysteries of the world; 
thoughts that commanded respect rose 
from under the fur of worn-out bonnets, 


[ 123 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


greasy little caps. Each of these beggars 
was at this moment a pontiff. One of 
them, sacristan or rabbi, I know not 
which, with authoritative voice and in 
well-scanned lines pronounced words that 
ravished, transporting with ecstasy all 
who heard them: 

“Here we are before your grave, friend. 
We bring to you your son, who had not . 
appeared before you since the day when 
he marked with this stone the place of 
your great rest. Life had taken him into 
the world, where your long-continued 
efforts for his good through your continu- 
ing to live in him, assured the success of 
your progeny. Ever present among your 
kin, you thus carry on your work on this 
earth. That is why your son comes to pay 
grateful homage to you. In times gone 
by, before life, you were united in 
eternity. His birth separated him from 


[ 124 ] 


BUSK 


you, gave him a life of his own. And 
now, in thought he comes to reunite with 
you and to revive you in himself even 
as you did.” 

The invocation, of which only this brief 
passage was translated for me, seemed to 
me of superior beauty. I wish I could 
literally quote the naive address to the 
neighboring dead that followed, asking 
them to entertain friendly relations with 
him, whom we had come to honor and 
expressing the hope that they, too, would 
be thus visited by their kin! 

With difficulty we groped our way back 
through the thicket and found ourselves 
before a sort of barn, where on the solid 
earthen floor were huddled in a circle 
women, children and old men, the poorest 
of the poor in the village. It is customary 
to give them alms and my friend passed 
before them and dropped money into 


[125 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


their outstretched hands. Then there ap- 
peared a board with bowls, decked with 
inscriptions that claimed the generosity of 
the visitor for various institutions. I saw 
bills dropping into one after another; not 
one of these charities was forgotten. 

As soon as we came out a mob of 
paupers presented themselves, pressing 
forward at the news that a son of Israel, 
who had gone forth from Busk, had re- 
turned with unheard-of treasures which 
his hands were dropping into every yearn- 
ing pocket. It was a veritable race as to 
who would get closest tohim. The twelve 
tribes were there, seeking the occasion to 
ameliorate their condition. 

“T knew you when you were a little 
tot,” said an old man. 

“T am a relative of—” 

“T am a friend of so-and-so whom your 
father cured,” they eagerly proclaimed. 

[ 126 ] 


BUSK 


Thus the beneficence creates a claim 
against the benefited or his descendants 
for the benefactor and those that follow 
him. One of the speakers had lost his 
calf, the other his horse. All had been 
victims of some accidents. Never in so 
short a space of time was heard such an 
accumulation of catastrophes. 

Implored, caressed, dragged forth, 
deafened by a hundred stories, our friend, 
followed by those poor whining wretches 
was forced, in order to reach his hospi- 
table lodgings, to pass through a crowd of 
persistent claimants that barred his pas- 
sage. By the use of our shoulders and our 
elbows we succeeded in breaking away 
from them. But at the gate of the castle 
another formidable attack awaited us. 
The whole synagogue was there, with the 
great rabbi in the lead, a marvelous Moses 
of Michael Angelo, whose head, crowned 


[ 127 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


with a high fur bonnet, lost itself in a 
torrential beard, in which the waves of 
silver alternated with those of ebony. A 
long discussion took place; for the house 
of God was still unfinished, and if the 
visitor would but move his magic wand of 
gold, it would be built and all Busk would 
rejoice. I must admit that our friend did 
not strike me as a very fervent devotee at 
the altar of Jehovah. Nevertheless, it 
would have surprised me, if childhood 
memories and the natural feeling of soli- 
darity with a great tragic race had not 
made him add his stone towards the erec- 
tion of the edifice where his forbears had 
worshiped. 

The gate was finally locked. While the 
chattering crowd retired, disappointed 
that the galions vanished as dream-like 
as they had appeared, we gradually re- 
gained our composure. ‘The neighboring 


[ 128 ] 


BUSK 


gypsy camp was tempting me and I sug- 
gested a visit before our departure. I 
had retained the vision of a little gypsy of 
perhaps ten years, who that very morning 
had for a copper coin frantically followed 
our car across the holes in the road, while 
at each of her leaps, like that of a rag doll, 
the smiling head of a bronze marmot 
bobbed up, madly tinkling its bells on the 
shoulders of the swift runner. A gate of 
the park permitted us to get out into the 
plain, unnoticed by the eyes of restive 
Israel, and soon we were in the midst of 
the tents planted at the border of the 
forest. 

Compared with the Jews we had just 
met, these people live in happy serenity. 
Pariahs, the degraded refuse of the castes 
of India, they carry in the folds of their 
cloaks what was left of them of their 
native land. ‘Towards the horizon which 


[ 129 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


ever recedes they are going all the time, 
marching towards the unknown, disdain- 
ful of the present sojourn and ever hope- 
ful of a better one. Serious without rest- 
less agitation, without the rudeness of con- 
quering races, they take across the planet 
their tranquil contentment with every- 
thing. What is to them the possession of 
some earth? Where chance guides them, 
they plant their long poles, attach the can- 
vas, and their palace is ready. Their little 
horses feed on the grass, while the gypsy, 
resplendent in copper buttons, goes from 
farm to farm in quest of worn out pots 
and kettles that need the restoring hand 
of the itinerate tinker. 

Earth offers plenty for her children, 
and the troop, enriched by beggary and 
occasional depredations, appears to enjoy 
the solid comfort of nomads living on next 
to nothing. The depth of their eyes, dia- 


[ 130 ] 


BUSK 


mond black, their placid features, their 
solemn gestures, reflect the fatalist soul of 
the Orient. Little boys of ten to twelve, 
stark naked, voluptuously recline like 
young wild animals, only their head of 
heavy coarse hair now and then bobbing 
up from the couch of green. Women, 
likewise crouching on the grass, look at 
us with supreme indifference. Their 
shining tresses end in chaplets of silver 
coins, evoking a vision of brilliantly deco- 
rated idols. 

Under a big tent is gravely reclining 
a handsome black divinity, radiant with 
silver coins. Her couch is a rug of violet 
coloring, forming a frame of sumptuous 
brightness. Blue spirals are rising from 
her pipe and seem to fascinate her like a 
dream. At her feet is a little girl of about 
six, who lights one of her mother’s pipes 
on the hearth fire and seems to derive in- 


[131 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


finite joy from it. It is a certain view of 
life which makes the Oriental, with all 
his inwardness, adapt his customs to life 
under the misty skies of the Occident. 

The Orient has also given us this Slav 
peasant, fashioned by the despotism of 
Asia, who doubles up at our sight and 
without even knowing us, in passing, 
kisses our hands. 

From the Orient, too, come these rest- 
less Jews, whose contemplative faculty is 
so seriously disturbed by militant contact 
with occidental society. Of a philosophy 
less disinterested than the Aryan, a 
stranger, who as harmless wanderer car- 
ries with him the implacable maledic- 
tion of his brothers, the Jew, however ac- 
cursed, has attempted to conquer the 
hostility of the world, into which dis- 
persion by conquest has thrown him. 
Scorned, hated, persecuted for having im- 


[ 132 ] 


BUSK 


posed upon us gods of his blood, he has 
wanted to redeem himself and to perfect 
himself by overcoming untoward circum- 
stances. For this task nothing was 
spared; no suffering, no torture counted, 
no vengeance was scorned. ‘There is no 
more astonishing history in the world. 
And because it now happens that these 
people have resisted menaces, stakes, 
forced conversions, because with all their 
vices and their virtues they have entered 
the social organization of our own vices 
and virtues, because they have drawn 
from their stock of good and evil a power 
of action at least equal to our particular 
power of good and evil, combined for the 
conquest of wealth, because they have pos- 
sessed themselves of our weapons and have 
learned to turn them against us, I hear 
that their systematic extermination is de- 
sired. Thus one can revive the hatreds 


[ 133 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


of those defeated in the contest for domi- 
nation, one can resuscitate plans of perse- 
cution, which are but an admission of 
defeat: but how can one found upon 
all this something that will last? 

The enormous power of Israel in con- 
temporary Christendom can not be 
denied. All things remaining as they are, 
the activity of this enduring race, this 
marvelous producer of energy, can in my 
opinion only increase. For Aryan ideal- 
ism I would not consider this a misfor- 
tune. Besides, each people has good and 
bad characteristics, and all supremacy of 
race seems to me to contradict the deepest 
interests of our manifold humanity. But 
when the faculties of a race have so 
miraculously adapted themselves to the 
social order of the present, as different 
from the past as it is certain to be from 
that of the future, what can one say, un- 


[ 134 ] 


BUSK 


less the race and the economic order in 
changing give us other results. The Jews 
will not be destroyed. The Sultan him- 
self, with hundreds of thousands of Arme- 
nians massacred, will at the end be con- 
quered by Armenia. Israel, having gone 
forth alive from the Middle Ages, cannot 
be suppressed. 

Instead of condemning a race whose 
lucky or unlucky faculties have made it 
a factor in present society, instead of 
crying cowardly that it must be annihi- 
lated to give us room to live—why do we 
not try, simply and more justly, to frame 
a more equitable, a more disinterested 
social code, in which the power of selfish 
appropriation—be it Jewish or Christian 
—is rendered less harmful and its tyranny 
less crushing for the great mass of hu- 
manity. Then the Judaism of Judza, if 
its cleverness made it sovereign of a 


[135 ] 


AT THE FOOT OF SINAI 


society of barbarous egotism travestied by 
the false gold of charity, and the no less 
triumphant Judaism of Christianity 
whom fate has permitted to have its 
chance, will no longer know the evil 
temptations of to-day and will be con- 
tented within the limits of an individual- 
istic development compatible with a 
superior notion of social justice. With- 
out violence, without massacres and per- 
secutions, Semitism, remaining what it is 
now, as it is typified in many children of 
Ham and Japheth, could no longer pre- 
sent the danger which it is said to be to- 
day. 

Fools are those, who believe in found- 
ing liberty upon the growth of tyranny! 
Less license to selfishness, more room for 
pity. Clear the roads that lead towards 
justice; bar the avenues through which 
unhindered triumphant oppression is en- 


[ 136 ] 


BUSK 


tering. How short-sighted it is to dream 
of a change of oppressors! To kill the 
oppressor is but to replace one by, another. 
What is needed is to attack him in his 
possibilities of action. Thus the wretched 
Christians of Paris or the wretched Jews 
of Busk will be efficiently assisted in their 
personal efforts against the heavy yoke 
with which they are burdened by their big 
brothers of all races, to whom the law at 
present is contented to say, “Crush, 
dominate, abuse!” and who do crush, 
dominate and abuse. What the Chris- 
tians, who are after all still masters of the 
world, need above anything else, is to 
better their own ways; then they will not 
need to fear the Jews who may be reach- 
ing out for the crown of opulence, which 
has ever been coveted by men of all ages 
and of all countries. 


[ 137 ] 








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